Remember the Night
by Fearful Little Thing
Summary: He is Mr Gold, and he is Rumpelstiltskin. He is one, or both, or neither, but whatever he is one thing is clear... he is going to get this curse broken, and then he is going to find his son. Stroybrooke AU, Rumbelle,
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: This is the sequel to my story Stars In The Night, though it can easily be read as a stand alone. I'd like to make it clear first thing that this will not be a rewrite of the show. The changes that will occur in the timeline will affect events - some of them pretty major - so it should be a pretty wild ride.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think. New chapters should be posted weekly.

Beware English spellings.

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* * *

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_Emma._

The name ricocheted around in his head, the letters bouncing and dancing in front of his eyes. Visions of a name written over and over in magical ink, bound forever on parchment and woven into the very fabric of his being so that he could never forget.

_Emma._

"What a lovely name."

The Enchanted forest. Years upon years of dark deeds and deals, all of them building, leading to the crescendo of this one great trick to fool the monster he made into thinking this had been for her. Baelfire, gone but never forgotten, forever a hole in his dark, shriveled heart. A face, a smile, a voice like a bell, pain and suffering and so much cruelty. Cora, a half-built life, hope and shattered dreams. Belle, his love, his enchantress, the woman he could never kiss for fear of losing himself and his means to finally reunite with his son.

_Emma._

Mr Gold turned abruptly, cane clacking hard against the ground as he strode out of the hotel and into the crisp evening air. He had to get home. Storybrooke memories filled his head, twining around and through memories of his other self and his other name. He had made a deal with Regina for a good life, for himself and Belle. She had made good on that… to an extent. "Loopholes," he growled under his breath, stalking down the street to his sleek black car, "bloody wee loopholes."

He drove too fast, taking the corners too sharply as he sped from Storybrooke's center to the more affluent part of town. The car screeched to a stop outside his house. _Their_ house. Salmon pink, rose bushes out the front, a perfect example of Victorian architecture. Mr Gold got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He limped up to the front door with a scowl on his face, hating this disfigurement all the more now that he recalled what it was like to walk without it. The front door was unlocked, a faint glimmer from the hall light tinting the glass panels with a warm glow. He dropped his keys into the bowl (crystal, antique) where they belonged and headed towards the kitchen.

The house's interior was classy, luxurious. A blending of modern amenities and antique decoration. It looked like something out of a magazine, spotless and tidy. They had a maid who came on Tuesdays and Fridays to keep it that way. Lacey could never be bothered with housework and Gold always had something better to do.

The kitchen was the only place on the ground floor that showed any signs of chaos. Lacey was there at the kitchen table, her laptop open, a bottle and a mostly-empty wineglass close by. Papers and books littered the rest of the table, dirty dishes were piled neatly in the sink. Dinner would be warming in the oven, some fancy takeout place that delivered home cooking. Lacey didn't cook either. And there she was, sitting there in one of those tiny designer dresses, hair put up into a messy bun on top of her head, manicured fingers flying over the keyboard.

He stopped in the kitchen doorway, stared at her. Eventually the typing slowed, and stopped with a decisive 'clack' on the enter key. Lacey turned, a frown on her face, the corners of her lipsticked mouth turning down a little. Something about him must have struck her as odd, he must have been looking at her strangely, because the frown deepened. "Are you…?" she began.

Mr Gold – he was Mr Gold, and she was Lacey, he was not that other him… not yet – shook his head and tried on a smile. "I'm fine," he assured her, soft-voiced. She didn't look convinced. "How's the writing?"

Lacey's suspicious look remained on her face a moment before she wiped it away, reaching the wine bottle to top up her glass. "Fine," she replied, "better than yesterday. Claude seems to be cooperating with me today."

"Characters not getting away from you then, dearie?" Mr Gold (it suddenly occurred to him that Regina hadn't even bothered to give him a first name, and a wave of anger passed through him like a physical thing) cleared his throat and went to the kitchen cabinet. He pulled out another glass and went to the table. If he didn't steal some of that vintage chardonnay now he'd never see that bottle again.

Lacey reluctantly filled his glass after her own, finishing the bottle. She would open another one before dinner. He would once again neglect to address the fact that his wife was a functioning alcoholic. "They're behaving. For now."

"Good, good…" If Emma was in town then it had been twenty-eight years since the curse had been cast. Twenty-eight years of mundane marriage with an alcoholic writer whom everyone thought was a gold-digging skank. Twenty-eight years of the same routine. Things would change now that she was here. Mr Gold frowned into his glass of wine, half-formed plots ticking away in his skull. It would be hard, he knew, to get Emma to believe. Henry would be the fulcrum on which _that_ little detail turned, he was sure of that.

He voiced a dark little chuckle at that. Imagine, Henry turning out to be the son of their saviour. Destiny did work in mysterious ways.

Lacey was looking at him strangely again. "Are you sure you're alright?" she asked, a note of suspicion in her voice. "Did something happen at work?" Her eyes narrowed further. "Is it Regina?"

Mr Gold had to smirk. At least that detail hadn't changed. Belle had never liked Regina either. "No, not at all. Our charming wee mayor has been behaving herself of late. It's nothing, Lacey. Really. Go back to your writing."

Mr Gold set his glass down on the table, the liquid inside practically untouched. He walked away from the kitchen and headed instead to his study, a small cluttered room that had (ironically, in a way) once been intended for use as a sunroom. Heavy curtains lined the windows now, a sturdy book shelf sitting squarely in front of them so they couldn't be opened or moved. His qualifications and certificates hung in frames behind the desk, proof of a fake history of attendance at a prestigious law school. There was a wall safe behind one of them. The combination was an anniversary. He put the cash from the hotel in the safe, slammed it shut, and took a seat at his desk.

He had a lot to think about.

_Emma._

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There were a lot of things in the shop that had once belonged in the Dark Castle, and more still that had once belonged to various current inhabitants of Storybrooke.

Mr Gold prowled through the shop with grim purpose, looking through cases and cabinets, poking in old chests and the boxes in the back full of goods that required repair or cleaning. Each item in the shop was carefully catalogued in a large leather ledger on the counter, complete with falsified histories and certificates of authenticity. The spinning wheel he had once thought only a curiosity from the sixteenth century, books, vases, a small china teacup, all of those were easily found. The one thing he was actually searching for eluded him.

He found it, eventually, tucked away in the drawer beneath one of the jewellery display cabinets. A solid gold lacework choker, carelessly wrapped in tissue paper and left underneath a stack of papers. Mr Gold unwrapped the thing carefully and ran his thumb over the stone in the center. Dead and gray, it looked like smoky quartz that had been polished to a perfect shine. There was no magic in this world. If he had ever needed proof of that, the cold gray stone confirmed it.

Mr Gold tucked the choker into the pocket of his suit jacket. He already knew where that other item was. The one that was currently useless, but that would no doubt come to bite him one way or the other if it ever got into the wrong hands. He would deal with that later. It was safe enough for now, at least as long as the Mayor still believed she was in control of this little game.

A calculating smirk twisted his lips as he contemplated the lady mayor. He might need to be careful there. As long as she believed he was still under the influence of the curse he was safe. If she found out… if she believed him to be a threat…

First things first, he needed to get the lay of the land. Information was key, without information speculation was useless. And the best place for information about the mayor's attention, as much as he despised it, was the Mirror.

Mr Gold flipped the sign on the shop to closed and strode out onto the street. A short while later he sat at Granny's diner, the Mirror spread out in front of him, a cup of coffee at his right hand (and the unsubtle glances of other patrons all around him). The front page told him all he needed to know. A trash story about Emma Swan, speculating upon her unsavoury character. Mr Gold read through the whole thing, taking it all with a grain of salt. No doubt there was some truth there, but the Mirror was written with a heavy bias on what Mayor Mills wanted everyone to think. With Emma on the front page that meant Regina was focused on her and her alone.

He left the diner with his coffee untouched, the paper folded up beside it and a few crisp bills underneath the cup.

More investigation was required before he would be satisfied.

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* * *

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Early evening gave him his opportunity. The Mayor's office was close enough to his shop that walking there wasn't any trouble. By now the entire town had heard about Emma's stunt with the Mayor's prized apple tree. Mr Gold had chuckled at that, he should have expected any daughter of Snow White to be a spitfire. That this would give him an opportunity to see the mess in person was just a bonus.

Sure enough the yard was in a bad way, apples having rolled in every direction from the branch that had been lopped off neatly at the base. Regina was there too, carefully placing her treasured apples into a basket and looking all too self-satisfied to be aware that Emma Swan was still in town.

Mr Gold shook his head as he walked up to her. "What a mess," he drawled, full of false sympathy.

Regina straightened, smoothed down her skirt, and stood. "Not for long," she said with a cool smile; "What can I do for you, Mr Gold?"

"I was just in the neighbourhood," he replied smoothly, his ability to lie unimpeded by two sets of memories, "thought I'd pop by. Lovely to see you in such high spirits."

"Well it's been a good day. I just rid the town on an unwanted nuisance."

Mr Gold's smile didn't waver. "Emma Swan?" he guessed. "Really?"

"Yes," the mayor nodded, a satisfied smirk on her lips, "I imagine she's half way to Boston by now."

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that," Mr Gold said calmly, his tone never changing, "I just saw her strolling down the main street with your boy. Thick as thieves, they looked."

The smirk vanished from Regina's face, replaced by a flash of anger. "What?"

"Perhaps you should have come to me," Mr Gold replied, picking his words to needle. "If Miss Swan is a problem you can't fix I'm only too happy to help… for a price, of course."

"I'm not in the business of making deals with you anymore," the mayor said coldly.

"To which deal are you referring?"

"You know what deal."

"Oh, right. Yes. The boy I procured for you. Henry." Mr Gold paused a moment as if thinking, when in truth he was studying her reaction to his words. "Did I ever tell you what a lovely name that was? However did you pick it?"

Regina's eyes narrowed at him dangerously. "Did you want her to come to town? You wanted all this to happen, didn't you? Your finding Henry wasn't an accident, was it?"

So she did suspect that something was different. Or she was merely reacting the way paranoid evil queens reacted when things didn't go to plan. Unphased, Mr Gold frowned at her. "Whatever do you mean?" he asked mildly.

"Where did you get him?" Regina demanded. "Do you know something?"

"I have no idea what you're implying." Innocent did not sit well on him in either guise, and he knew it.

"I think you do. Who is this woman? His mother, this… Emma Swan?"

Mr Gold smiled placidly at the mayor. "I would say you think you know exactly who she is," he observed, and began to turn away from her. "I really must be going. Prior engagements and all of that, you know how it is."

He didn't get two steps before she was in front of him, barring his way with her most intimidating glare. "Tell me what you know about her."

Mr Gold considered giving her an answer that she'd like. He considered continuing to play innocent just to infuriate her. In the end he decided on the middle ground. An ambiguous sort of answer, but one that was well within the character she had made him here. "I'm not going to answer you, dear," he told her calmly. "So I suggest you excuse me. Please."

Regina stepped out of his way, a look of shock on her face. She stood there as if rooted to the spot as he walked away, and didn't seem to move until he had gone.

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Tonight he is better prepared for the shock of seeing his wife and knowing who she is and what she is to him. Tonight Mr Gold greets her in his usual manner, if a little warmer than usual, and does not steal her wine.

At dinner he feels the choker in his jacket pocket and considers giving it to her then… But it has to wait. If Regina were to see it, so soon after his needling her, she would know. He wanted her to be uncertain still, felt that her focus was better suited to the problem of Emma. He had a feeling that the harder Regina pushed the harder Emma would push back.

Emma needed to push back.

Mr Gold left the choker in his pocket. He tucked it away in a drawer of his nightstand while Lacey was in the shower that night, promising himself that he _would_ give it to her. Sometime. Just not now. Not yet.

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* * *

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When he heard that John Doe had woken up, he knew it had something to do with Emma's influence. She was changing things already. The clock had just been the start. The days, Mr Gold noticed, no longer seemed to repeat themselves. Things were changing, and Regina was becoming more and more overt in her attempts to get rid of Emma Swan.

Mr Gold kept his distance but kept an ear to the ground and watched for trouble. He subtly moved things around in his store, removing some of the more useful artifacts from the front room. He was so caught up in planning for the future that it completely slipped his mind that now time was moving again he might need to deal with things that had happened in the past.

At least until the sound of breaking glass stopped him half way to his car one evening. He turned on his heel, frowning deeply as he walked back to the shop. The front door was ajar, glass lying on the floor from the broken glass panel near the lock. He stepped over it, careful not to crunch any under his cane or his feet, and into the shop. There was a light on in the back, the soft glow of the lamp and not the ceiling light. Mr Gold walked into the office without a second thought, incensed at the idea of someone daring to break in. Even in this world people knew better than to steal from him.

He identified the culprit immediately and was struck with a vague sense of déjà vu. "What are you doing?" he asked the blonde, pregnant Ashley, voice dry.

The girl whirled around. She'd found the safe, the one that housed all of the legal documentation for the store as well as some of the paperwork for the… less savoury deals he'd made in this world. She looked terrified but stubborn, her hand shaking as she quickly brought it up in front of her. He barely registered what she said to him as a burst of stinging pain in his eyes caused him to jerk back. The movement set him off balance, his bad leg crumpling beneath him. He felt his head catch the corner of his desk, and the next thing he knew he was waking up on the floor, keys gone, and a terrible headache pounding behind his eyes.

Mr Gold sat up gingerly, fumbling for his cane. He reached up a hand to touch his temple and his fingertips came away tacky with blood. He cursed under his breath and struggled to his feet, eyes still watering in the after-effects of the mace she'd used on him.

A few shaky steps brought him to the wall safe. He flicked through the documents inside and cursed again when he noticed what was missing. "Changing your fate indeed," he said acidly.

He sat down at the desk, pondering his options.

The contract was legal and binding, according to his records there was even a happy couple lined up who had paid a decent sum of money for their part of the contract. Whether or not they were real, of course, was another question. He could have her arrested for breaking and entering, even for assault, and get the contract from her then. But it would cast a terribly unfavourable light on his character, and Lacey… wouldn't like it. At least, she wouldn't like hearing everyone's opinions of it for the next few years.

On the other hand… Here was an opportunity. Emma Swan was a passable detective, she was young, and more likely to be able to bring Ashley in without causing a scene. And no matter what way things turned out (and he suspected they would not turn out in favour of his contract) it gave him the opportunity to test Ms Swan's mettle. In the end, whether he wound up owing her or she owing him wouldn't matter, opportunity only bred opportunity.

Mr Gold picked up the phone on the desk and dialed home. Lacey picked up on the fifth ring, sounding just a touch drunk (a bad writing day then). "Lacey," Mr Gold said, "listen, I'm going to be late home. Don't wait for me, I'm not sure when I'll be getting in."

"Did something happen?" Lacey asked him. "Are you ok?"

"Someone broke in at the shop. They got into the safe, and it's important that I get what they stole back."

"Ok. Don't track blood on the carpets, we just had those cleaned."

"This isn't a gangster novel, dear. I'm not going to kill anyone."

"Well, whatever you do. Don't be home too late, ok? Bye!"

She hung up before he could say anything else. It was just as well. The words 'I love you' had been clawing at his throat, and saying them would have struck her as unusual. The Mr Gold she knew was not known for his phone manner, or for his verbal declarations of affection.

It didn't take him long to find where Emma was staying, or to drive to Mary-Margaret Blanchard's apartment building. It took him a little longer to get up the stairs to her floor, but that was time well spent silently rehearsing what he would say. Finally he rapped firmly on the door and stepped back a polite distance to wait for an answer. Moments later the door opened with a creak to frame Mary-Margaret in all of her shy glory.

"Miss Blanchard," Mr Gold greeted her, "is Miss Swan here?"

Mary-Margaret glanced back over her shoulder. Footsteps sounded, and a second later Emma was standing next to her at the door. Mr Gold held out his hand for her to shake. She had a firm grip, which he took as a sign in her favour.

"Hi, my name's Mr Gold. We met briefly on your arrival."

Emma nodded. "I remember," she said, voice reserved.

"Good." Mr Gold smiled at her, "I have a proposition for you, Miss Swan. I, uh… I need your help. I'm looking for someone."

From the look on her face, Mr Gold would guess she hadn't heard about his wife. "Really?" she replied, obviously searching for a polite way to turn him down. "Um…"

Mary-Margaret was clearly not helping. In fact, if anything she looked more awkward than Emma did, a strained smile on her rosy-cheeked face. "You know what?" she said, far too chirpily, "I'm going to go jump in the bath!" With that Mary-Margaret quickly disappeared further into the apartment, leaving Emma alone at the door with Mr Gold.

Mr Gold reached into a pocket and pulled out the photograph of Ashley that he'd managed to track down, holding it out for Emma to take. "This is her. Her name is Ashley Boyd. And she's taken something quite valuable of mine."

Emma took the photo. She looked at it, recognition clearly sparking in her eyes. She'd met Ashley before. Frowning, Emma looked back up at Mr Gold. "So why don't you just go to the police?"

Mr Gold had this answer prepared, and delivered it with smooth precision. "Because Miss Boyd is a confused young woman. She's pregnant. Alone and scared. I don't want to ruin this young girl's life, I just want my property returned."

"What is it?" Emma asked dubiously.

"Well," he paused for a small humourless smile, "one of the advantages of you not being the police is discretion. Let's just say it's a precious object and leave it at that."

"When did you see her last?"

"Oh, about an hour ago. That's how I got this." He gestured with his cane to the side of his head where he knew a lovely bruise was blooming to life around the site of the small cut at his temple. "She didn't seem herself, she was quite wound up. Rambling on and on about changing her life, I have no idea what got into her. Miss Swan, please, help me find her. My only other choice is the police, and I don't think anyone wants to see that baby born in jail, do they?"

It was a sore spot and he knew it. Anyone who had read the implications in the Mirror knew it. For a moment Emma looked shell shocked, then her face closed off, her expression clouding over. "No, of course not."

"So you'll help me then?" he pressed.

Emma glanced down at the photo, then tucked it into her jeans pocket. "I'll help her."

Mr Gold smiled. "Grand."

Emma was about to reply but was cut off by another unexpected intrusion as Henry bounced up the stairs and to the door, talking as he went; "Hey, Emma. I was thinking we…" he stopped short upon seeing Mr Gold just inside the open door, mouth snapping shut.

Mr Gold pretended that he didn't find anything unusual about Henry's behaviour even if the boy was, at present, the one person in town most likely to guess his true identity. "Henry," he greeted the boy kindly, "how are you?"

The boy looked hesitant, as if unsure he should answer even such a mundane question when it was posed by him. "OK?" he said eventually, more a question than an answer.

"Good," Mr Gold replied, and nodded to him. "Give my regards to your mother." He walked past Henry and through the door, pausing a moment in the hallway to add; "And Miss Swan… good luck."

As he left he could hear Henry questioning Emma. He had to smirk to himself when he heard the boy ask Emma if she knew who he was. Of course she didn't. Nobody did. The smirk fell from his face. He had a house to get back to, a wife to reassure, and time enough to wait before Emma delivered.

Lacey was waiting for him in the living room, ceiling light and all of the lamps on, an open bottle of nail polish on the coffee table telling him what she had been doing to occupy herself. She stood when the door opened, abandoning half-painted nails to look him up and down. When she saw he wasn't dragging mud or blood in through the door her gaze drew upwards until she saw the cut on his temple. "What _happened_?" she demanded, harrying him along until he was sat on one of their pristine antique-style couches. "You said someone broke in, you didn't say they clocked you one."

"The desk 'clocked me'," Mr Gold corrected dryly, "the assailant had a can of mace and, I must say, very good aim."

Hands on her hips, Lacey glared down at him. "You said it wasn't like a gangster novel either."

"Do gangsters often mace people in your books, Lacey?" he asked the question mildly, but felt bad just the same when he saw how her face fell. Lacey wore her emotions for the world to see, so unlike Belle who kept most of hers under a carefully crafted mask. Mr Gold sighed. "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. Sit down." He patted the couch next to him encouragingly. Reluctantly, pouting a little, Lacey sat. "It's all under control," he assured her, reaching out to take her hand. "Ashley Boyd stole a contract from me, that's all. No excitement, nothing to be concerned about. She'll give it back or someone will owe me for her debt."

Lacey was staring down at their entwined hands. It occurred to him that as far as she knew they never just sat and held hands. She looked at him. "Ashley Boyd? The pregnant maid at Granny's?"

"That's the one."

"Why would she have a contract with you?" Lacey asked, then barely a second later understanding dawned. "Henry. You got Henry for the mayor. Ashley was going to adopt out the baby?"

"She was," Mr Gold confirmed. He was quiet a moment, watching her. There was a lot of his Belle in this woman, a lot of her best and worst qualities bundled together into a combination that was similar, but not quite right. The part of him that was Mr Gold loved this woman, though he had never been good at showing it. The part of him that was Rumpelstiltskin found her a pale imitation.

Mr Gold reached out and picked up the bottle of nail polish. He put Lacey's hand down on his knee, unscrewed the cap, and carefully began to paint the nails she'd missed. "Ashley signed a contract with me some months ago," he continued, ignoring the odd look on Lacey's face (somewhere between surprised, happy, and strangely bittersweet), "she also accepted a rather large sum of money from the adoptive parents I had lined up for her child. She could dissolve the contract legally, perhaps even enter into a payment plan or loan to pay the money back, but instead she chose to break into the shop, steal the contract, and assault me in the process. I have Miss Swan on her case."

"Miss Swan." Lacey didn't sound like she thought that was a good idea. She sighed. "Well, you always know what you're doing… It'll piss Regina off at least, knowing you went over Graham's head _and_ that you employed Emma Swan to do it."

"And we both know how much I love pissing off our good mayor."

They shared a grin at that, and for a moment it felt as if he were back in the Dark Castle. The sensation was almost like vertigo, the bottom dropping out of reality for just a moment. It passed just as quickly. Nails finished he relinquished his wife's hand. She inspected the nails carefully, then put her other hand down on his knee. "Now you have to do the other one," she informed him, a cheeky smile making her face light up, "or it's going to look strange."

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* * *

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It was ten thirty in the morning when he got the call from the hospital. When the contract had been signed he had been listed as Ashley's next of kin at the hospital registry so that he could be there to facilitate the hand-over and adoption when the time came. Apparently Ashley hadn't thought far enough ahead to have that changed. Or perhaps it had just been overlooked in her plans to run away and start a new life.

Mr Gold closed the shop and went to the hospital. At this point it didn't much matter whether or not Ashley kept the baby, but a contract was a contract and either way he was going to be paid. In this world and in the other nobody broke deals with him, not without some sort of consequence.

At the hospital he was directed to the maternity ward – which in a town like Storybrooke was basically just a small selection of rooms close to the paediatric ward. He saw that Emma was waiting outside long before she saw him, the blonde far too occupied with her son and with worrying about the condition of Ashley and the baby. As Mr Gold approached them a doctor appeared, a reassuring smile on his face. "Miss Swan. The baby is a healthy six pound girl and the mother is doing fine."

"What lovely news," Mr Gold smiled, adding a hint of ruthless for effect. "Excellent work, Miss Swan. Thank you for bringing me my merchandise."

The words were specifically chosen to incite anger, and they did. He could see the change on Emma's face immediately. "A baby?" she repeated, "that's your merchandise? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well because at the time you didn't need to know."

"Really? Or did you just think maybe I wouldn't take the job?"

"On the contrary." Actually, she had hit the nail on the head, but she didn't need to know that. "I thought it would be more effective if you found out yourself."

"_Effective_?" Emma repeated in disbelief.

"I thought that perhaps after seeing Ashley's hard life you might find that the alternative made more sense. I mean, if anyone could understand the reasons behind giving up a baby, I assumed it would be you."

"You're not," Emma told him forcefully, enunciating each word, "getting that kid."

"Actually, we have an agreement. Or, more accurately," Mr Gold drawled the word, aware that each thing he said was only making Emma more determined to help Ashley keep her child, "we have a legal contract. My contracts are always honoured. If not, I'm going to have to involve the police and that baby is going to end up in the system. And that would be a pity. You didn't enjoy your time in the system did you, Emma?"

'It's not going to happen."

"I like your confidence. It's charming, really. But," Mr Gold held up a finger, "all I have to do is press charges. She did, after all, break into my shop and assault me."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Let me guess – the thing she stole was a contract?"

"If it were, her possession of a single copy does not nullify the contract."

Emma stared at him, her glare not wavering. "You know that no jury in the world will put a woman in jail who's only reason for breaking and entering was to keep her child. I'm willing to roll the dice that contract doesn't stand up. Are you? Not to mention what might come out about you in the process. Somehow, I suspect, there is more to you than a simple pawnbroker. You really want to start that fight?"

While a part of Mr Gold was thoroughly annoyed at her implications about his legal expertise, the rest of him was too busy being thrilled at her stubborn goodness. Perhaps it wasn't as pure and all-encompassing as her parents had been, but it seemed Emma Swan did have a bit of a saviour complex. Perfect, if she was going to stick around long enough to break the curse. "I like you, Miss Swan," Mr Gold said mildly, "you're not afraid of me, and that's either cocky or presumptuous. Either way, I'd rather have you on my side."

Emma's glare faded just a little, though she still looked sceptical. "So she can keep the baby?"

"Not just yet… There's still the matter of Miss Boyd's contract."

"Tear it up."

Mr Gold chuckled. In the real world contracts weren't nearly so easy to dissolve. "That's not going to cut it, I'm afraid. You see, when Miss Boyd received payment it wasn't from me…" He paused, waiting for Emma to catch up, and only continued when he saw the sudden understanding on her face. "It was from the joyful couple expecting to adopt her child. I was merely a facilitator, a middle man to take care of all those pesky legal details. I'm afraid that breaking her contract will mean she will owe quite a bit of money. After all, it's hardly fair on these people to lose both their baby and to be charged for it. So…" Mr Gold leaned forward a little, his smile turning sly, "I put it to you now. If you want Ashley to have that baby, are you willing to make a deal with me?"

Emma broke eye contact with him to glance back at Ashley's room. "You're saying you'd be willing to pay off the couple… to make sure they didn't pursue legal action."

"That's right. Ashley's debt would be cleared, and she will have no fear of any legal ramifications. Both for breaking her contract and for breaking and entering."

Emma looked back at him, and the look on her face was so familiar that for just a moment he felt the urge to let loose a familiar giggle. The urge passed, instead he waited patiently for her to speak. "What do you want?"

"Oh, I don't know just yet. You'll owe me a favour."

"A favour?" Emma's sceptical nature made her pause. For a moment it looked as if she wouldn't accept, but then the cry of a baby and the coo of a new mother interrupted the silence in the hallway. "Deal."

"Lovely." Mr Gold smiled at her, showing teeth, and then turned to walk away. He suspected the couple who had intended to adopt the baby were a construct of the curse. Even if they weren't, with just a little legal footwork he had the means to nullify the contract. And now Emma Swan, Storybrooke's saviour, owed him a favour. He'd be saving that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: A day early this time, because I can. Enjoy the small perspective shift.

Beware English spellings and possible Britishisms.

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* * *

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As a general rule there weren't many places in town that Lacey frequented. She spent most of her time either at her computer or at the Rabbit Hole, a place where nobody would look down their noses at her and everybody was too busy drinking to do much in the way of gossiping. Her next most frequent haunts were the book shop, the small strip of clothing stores just off main street, and sometimes the park. She rarely visited her husband's store, and even more rarely visited Granny's diner. Granny's was where respectable people went, a nice homely little diner that served good food and excellent coffee, a place that attracted a certain kind of clientele… People who weren't really _her_ kind of people. Her kind of people didn't gossip behind her back and call her a gold digging whore when they thought she couldn't hear them. Her kind of people didn't pretend to be nice to your face only to talk about you behind your back. Come to think of it… that was probably why she disliked the mayor so much.

Today was the first day in months that Lacey had set foot in Granny's diner, driven by the urge to get something for lunch that wasn't either Chinese takeout or food that pretended to be gourmet. She never tried to make lunch herself. Left to her own devices Lacey could burn salad, and had done.

The tiny bell above the door tinkled pleasantly in greeting. Lacey stepped through into the diner, immediately greeted by delicious smells and not-so-delicious stares. She always forgot just how judgmental people were until she saw the evidence in person.

Ignoring the stares and slightly hostile atmosphere, Lacey walked up to the diner counter and sat down, dropping her designer purse onto the counter top. She crossed her legs at the ankles, clasped her hands together, and waited expectantly for Ruby to come and take her order.

When the scarlet-lipped waitress in the tiny shorts and midriff-baring top gave you derisive looks, that was irony, Lacey thought dryly.

"What can I get you?" Ruby asked shortly, not even looking at her over her notepad.

"Cheeseburger, fries, and an iced tea," Lacey replied, taking a leaf out of her husband's book and pretending they were having a civil conversation.

Ruby scribbled on her pad and turned away, flouncing off to the kitchen without another word.

"Wow," a woman's voice piped up close by, and Lacey turned to see Emma Swan standing at the counter, brand new deputy's badge clipped to her belt, "I didn't think Ruby served anyone without stopping to chat."

Lacey recognised the other woman from her photo in the paper. Probably everybody in town knew who she was by now. They didn't really get newcomers, so Emma Swan's arrival was big news. "She doesn't really like me," Lacey replied, a small, sarcastic smile on her lips. "Nobody does, really."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Really? Why? You seem ok to me."

"Well, we haven't met before. And you probably haven't heard about me yet. Don't worry. You will." At Emma's confused look Lacey stuck out a hand for her to shake, bracelets jingling. "I'm Lacey Gold."

A few people who had been staring had the good grace to seem embarrassed and quickly look away. Emma looked bemused. She shook Lacey's hand. "Right…" She glanced down at Lacey's hand, noting the wedding band and the large diamond above it. "You're Gold's wife?"

"So they tell me. And you're Emma Swan, the new deputy."

"News travels fast, huh?"

Lacey shrugged. "It's a small town. I'd be surprised if there was someone who didn't know."

Ruby appeared then with Lacey's iced tea. She put it down on the counter without a word, then turned to Emma with a smile. "Emma, hi, what can I get you?"

"Uh, two grilled cheeses and two takeaway coffees."

Ruby flashed a grin. "Graham sending you out to get lunch, huh?"

"Something like that," Emma replied, glancing at Lacey who sipped her iced tea like nothing was out of the ordinary. "Actually, maybe I'll get mine to have here, is that ok?"

"Sure," Ruby chirped, "just pick a table and it'll be right out!"

"I think I'll just sit here," Emma said, sliding into the seat next to Lacey.

Ruby looked surprised. "Here? Oh-kay… grilled cheese and coffee coming right up." Ruby went to the kitchen to place the order, then to the coffee machine to make up a new pot.

Meanwhile, Lacey looked at Emma. "You didn't have to do that," she said, playing with her straw. "I don't mind sitting alone."

Emma shrugged. "Maybe I'm just curious," she admitted. "You really don't seem like Gold's type."

Amused, Lacey arched an eyebrow. "You think he has a type?"

"Well, no. Ok, I hadn't really thought about it. But if I had I guess I would have thought he'd go for someone more like Regina. You know," Emma explained awkwardly, clearly realising that she might have sounded insulting, "cold and aloof."

Lacey laughed, the only way she'd have been offended by a comparison with Regina is if Emma had said they were alike. "No, he doesn't like Regina. He thinks she's 'unsubtle'."

"And you aren't?" Emma arched an eyebrow, this time teasingly.

"I don't try to be."

Emma's coffee arrived then, along with Lacey's burger and fries. Ruby, to her credit, even tried to smile at Lacey this time, though it came out a little bit strained. Emma watched the waitress go, a small frown on her face. "So," she said after a moment, sipping her coffee, "why don't the people around here like you?"

Lacey shrugged expressively. "I'm young, I'm married to the richest, scariest man in town, and I haven't spoken to my poor father in years. Everyone imagines there must have been some huge scandal to cause him to disown me, or that I made some sort of deal with Gold and that's why I married him. It couldn't just be because we actually care for one another."

"Let me guess, if they do think that then obviously you must be a horrible bitch."

"Exactly." She sipped her iced tea. "I figured out pretty quick it was easier to just let people think what they want to. I was always a loner anyway."

"Me too. Well," Emma smiled at her, "you don't seem too bad to me. And, ok, I don't like your husband, but that doesn't make you a bad person."

Lacey couldn't help a smile at that, a genuine one too. It had been a long time since anyone was able to see her as an entity separate from her husband. "You know, I think you're going to be very good for this town, Emma."

.

* * *

.

Things were fairly quiet in town for a few weeks. Emma and Regina continued to butt heads, there was the short-lived excitement of Henry's disappearance into the collapsed mine, but all in all things were mostly quiet. And then Sheriff Graham died. Mr Gold didn't need to keep an ear out to hear about it, it was all over town. And it was a shame, because he had respected Graham (even if the Sheriff had been Regina's toady).

But some good did come of it. Emma didn't leave her position as deputy and instead took on the duties as acting Sheriff. Opportunity breeds opportunity, as he was fond of thinking. Not only that, but Mr Gold had a copy of the town charter sequestered away in his shop. He made sure to read over it carefully before he called the Sheriff's office.

Emma arrived right on schedule, spot on the dot exactly ten minutes after receiving his call.

"Gold," her voice called from the front of the shop, "are you in here?"

"Well, it is my shop," he replied, raising his voice a little to be heard. "Back here, dear."

Emma entered the back room cautiously, her nose wrinkling at the smell. He was doing restoration work today, which required the use of certain unpleasant substances. Emma coughed. "What is that?"

"Ah. This is lanolin – used for waterproofing." Amongst other things.

Emma didn't look impressed. "It smells like livestock."

'Well," Mr Gold replied dryly, "it is the reason why sheep's wool repels water."

"It stinks," Emma said flatly. "Um… if there was a reason you called the Sheriff's Department, if you want to talk about that quickly. Or, uh, outside."

Mr Gold stopped what he was doing and wiped his hands on a cloth. "I just wanted to express my condolences, really. The Sheriff was a good man. You're still wearing the deputy's badge. He's been gone two weeks now and, I believe, after two weeks of acting as Sheriff the job becomes yours. You'll have to wear the real badge."

"Yeah, I guess. I'm just not in a hurry. So, um," Emma made as if to leave, "thank you for the kind words."

She had made it out into the main part of the shop before he had stood to follow. "I have his things," Mr Gold said plainly, and Emma stopped dead in front of the door.

"What?"

"The sheriff," Mr Gold specified, walking over to the counter where he'd left the box. "He rented an apartment that I own. Another reason for my call, really. I wanted to offer you a keepsake."

"I don't need anything."

"As you wish. Well, give them to Mayor Mills. Seems like she was the closest thing he had to family."

"I'm not sure about that," Emma replied dryly, eyes on the box.

Mr Gold smirked. "No love lost there, I see. Look, I feel that all of this stuff is headed for the trash bin – you really should take something."

"No. I don't need anything."

"Well…" Mr Gold reached into the box and picked up the item closest to the top. "your boy might like these, don't you think? You could play together."

Emma hesitated, looking at the object he'd pulled out. A pair of walkie-talkies, perfect for Henry's operation cobra. "I don't…" Emma trailed off.

"Please," Mr Gold pressed, "they grow up so fast."

Emma reluctantly walked forwards and took the walkie-talkies, obviously waiting to see if there was a catch. "Thanks."

He let her walk out without asking for anything in return. It was enough that he knew those walkie-talkies would be put to good use, both undermining Regina and giving Henry some joy. The boy deserved it. After all, he was the one leading their saviour in the right direction. And more than that, Emma deserved a small reprieve before the trial that was coming. Regina would never let her take up the Sheriff's position without a fight. Luckily for all, Mr Gold was armed and ready.

.

* * *

.

It took about as much time as Mr Gold expected for him to hear about Sidney Glass' new appointment. Regina was quick off the bat, but she was also far too cocky for her own good. As soon as he heard Mr Gold retrieved his copy of the town charter and set out for Mary-Margaret's apartment. He arrived in the evening, just before the twilight, and knocked firmly on the door.

The door swung open to frame a very disheveled Emma Swan, her blonde hair mussed as if she'd been running her fingers through it. Mr Gold gave her a pleasant smile. "Good evening, Miss Swan. Sorry for the intrusion. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

"Come on in," Emma said, stepping aside to let him through into the apartment.

"Thank you." Mr Gold entered just in time to see Mary-Margaret taking her leave into one of the bedrooms, hastily shutting the door behind her. "I heard about what happened," he began. "Such an injustice."

"Yeah, well," Emma shrugged dismissively, though she obviously wasn't happy, "what's done is done."

Mr Gold shook his head wryly, "spoken like a true fighter."

"I don't see what other chance I have," Emma pointed out, "she's the mayor and I'm, well, me."

"Miss Swan," Mr Gold gave her a thin smile, "two people with a common goal can accomplish many things. Two people with a common enemy can accomplish even more… How would you like a benefactor?"

"A benefactor?" Emma repeated, arching an eyebrow.

"An ally then." Mr Gold gestured to the table, moving to sit down before she even nodded. "Do you mind?" He sat, and placed the binder with his copy of the charter on the table in front of him. "You know," he said, flicking it open, "it really is quite shocking how few people study the town charter."

"The town charter?" Emma frowned, looking at the binder.

"Well," Mr Gold leafed through to the relevant page, "it's quite comprehensive. And the mayor's authority? Maybe she's not quite as powerful as she seems."

He found the right section and slid it over to Emma. She read through it with a frown, then looked up at him in surprise.

"I see you found it," he said calmly.

"The mayor can appoint a candidate," Emma said, suddenly looking determined, "she can't appoint a new sheriff."

"Exactly, Miss Swan." Mr Gold smiled. "Perhaps it's time someone reminded Mayor Mills that she is not as all-powerful as she believes."

.

* * *

.

Incendiary devices weren't naturally one of his skills, but enough information existed that the creation of a timed device wasn't too difficult. It was hardly any effort really. Regina was so predictable, and Emma was so stubborn, it wasn't difficult to figure out a time when they would both be in the Mayor's office.

The execution went out without a hitch. Mr Gold watched the fire truck from the front of his shop, one of many spectators who had come out to see what the fuss was about. He was even able to see it when Emma emerged from the office, half-carrying Regina. Sidney Glass did the rest of his work for him then, him and the rest of the town. Mr Gold smirked and slipped back into his shop. All he had to do now was sit back and wait, perhaps attend the debate before the vote.

He was confident everything would fall into place.

Lacey was looking at him oddly over dinner that night, nursing her glass of wine for far longer than usual. Eventually Mr Gold put down his knife and fork and stared right back at her expectantly. "Yes, dear?" he asked pointedly.

"Should I even bother asking if you set the mayor's office on fire?"

"That depends on whether or not you think you'd like the answer."

"I don't know," Lacey confessed airily, swishing what was left of her wine in its glass. "On the one hand it would mean that you set fire to the mayor's office, which is something I can get behind. On the other hand it means you've got some sort of secret plot unfolding and I'm not sure I like the implications of that. Also you almost torched Emma Swan, and I like her."

"Nobody was almost torched. It was barely even a fire, no more than a bit of smoke really."

"So you _did_ set the mayor's office on fire?"

"I may have decided that perhaps Miss Swan's campaign needed a little flare," Mr Gold replied, both evading and yet answering the question at the same time.

Lacey set down her glass. She looked as if she wasn't sure whether she should be amused or outraged on Emma's behalf. Eventually she settled on something in the middle, giving him a dry look. "Well, next time," she said, "let me know in advance so I can come and watch. I had to hear about it from the Mirror this time."

"If there is ever a next time," Mr Gold agreed, "I will give you advance warning."

Lacey smiled at him, her lips pressed together cheekily. "And you tell me life isn't like a gangster novel."

.

* * *

.

Mr Gold expected visitors the next day, and he got them. Emma's campaign moved quickly. By midday posters picturing her rescue of the mayor were all over main street. He just smirked when he saw them, and set himself behind the counter at his shop to wait for the inevitable. He didn't look up when the shop bell rang, certain that he knew who it was and carefully cultivating an air of disinterest to incite further anger on her part.

However, it was not Emma who came into his shop just after midday. Instead the footsteps that walked up to the counter were the soft click-clack of stiletto heels, and instead of an accusation the first words out of his visitor's mouth were; "You know, I don't think I've ever been in your shop."

Thoroughly surprised, Mr Gold looked up to see Lacey standing on the other side of the counter, a takeaway coffee cup held in each hand. He blinked. "Lacey."

His wife smiled at him, kicking up one heel and holding up the coffees. "Surprise!"

She looked uncertain in his domain. Mr Gold blinked away his surprise and straightened out of his casual slouch. He could see the effort she'd put into this gesture, however small, and how unsure she was that she would be welcomed here in his seat of power. He smiled at her. "You know," he said casually, "I don't think you have. Quite a shame, the shop is all the brighter for your being here."

"Well," Lacey demurred, clearly pleased that she was indeed welcome, "I felt like getting out of the house." She put the coffees down on the counter, looking around the store. "So… this is the famous pawn shop. It looks more like an antique store."

"It is, mostly. I did need somewhere to store it all," he joked, referring to the number of antiques already in their house.

Lacey smiled. She paused near his old spinning wheel, running her fingertips lightly over the ancient wood. "I like this. It looks like it has a story behind it, like it has a lot of history."

"Oh, it does." Mr Gold chuckled, feeling nostalgic, "they all do, these old things."

That, of course, caught his wife's interest. A writer herself, naturally she loved stories of all kinds. She had perched herself on the wooden part of the counter near the register, long legs crossed, coffee in hand as she listened to him explain the history of that spinning wheel (heavily abridged, and missing out on all of the bits to do with magic), when the door slammed open.

The bell jangled, the door bouncing off the wall with the force of the push, and Emma Swan strode in full of righteous fury, a bit of charred cloth clutched in one hand. She stopped in the center of the floor, coming up short when she noticed Lacey sitting on the shop counter. Lacey saw her look and hopped down from the counter, wobbling a moment on her stiletto heels before catching her balance.

"Maybe I should go," Lacey suggested. "Clearly you two have got some business to talk about."

"No," Emma said, fists clenched, "I can come back later."

She made as if to turn, but stopped when Mr Gold spoke; "After such a dramatic entrance? It would be a shame to waste it. Miss Swan, I'm sure anything you have to say can be said in front of my wife."

Emma glanced at Lacey, then looked back at Mr Gold, her face set. "Fine." She stalked up to the counter and dropped the cloth onto the glass top. "You set that fire."

"Did I now?" Mr Gold asked mildly.

"Take a whiff," Emma said, pointing to the cloth, "it smells like your sheep crap oil. Turns out it's flammable."

"Oh. Are you sure?" Mr Gold picked up the bit of cloth, pretending to examine it. "There's some construction work at City Hall at the moment. There's loads of flammable solvents used in construction."

Unconvinced, Emma asked; "Why did you do it?"

Mr Gold offered her a smile. "_If_ I did it. If I did it, that would be because you can't win without something big. Something like, uh… Oh, I don't know. Being the hero in a fire?"

Lacey shot him a look. To her credit it seemed as if she were just hearing about this now, as if she hadn't heard all about it last night. "_Really_?" She did not sound impressed.

Emma seemed equally unmoved. "How could you even know I'd be there at the right time?"

"Perhaps Regina isn't the only one with eyes and ears in this town," Mr Gold said mildly. "Or maybe I'm just intuitive… were I involved."

"I could have just run and left her there," Emma pointed out, "you didn't know I'd save her."

"You're not the type."

Emma backed away a step. "I can't go along with this."

"Ah, see, you just did. This is just the price of election, Miss Swan."

"A price I'm not willing to pay," Emma said, turning away from him. "Find another sucker."

"Ok, go ahead – expose me," Mr Gold chuckled. "But if you do, just think about what you'll be exposing and what you'll be walking away from… Oh yes. And who you might be disappointing."

The bell jangled angrily as Emma yanked the door open and strode through out onto the street. Inside, Lacey gave her husband a look. "I suppose it's too much to ask that you don't intimidate my friends."

"She's not intimidated," Mr Gold pointed out, picking up his now-cold takeaway coffee. "She's angry."

Lacey sighed. She tugged at her skirt, toed off her heels, and bent down to pick up the strappy stilettos. "I would have to wear heels everywhere… I'm going to go after her. If anyone asks, I was not at all aware of your dark deeds, understand?"

"Understood," Mr Gold confirmed, amused.

"Good," Lacey said, then proceeded to jog out the door after Emma.

* * *

"Emma!" Lacey called out, trotting awkwardly down the street after the blonde woman. "Emma, wait! Ow!" She hopped, stopping to brush a stone from her foot before continuing on. "Emma, please! I'm not wearing any shoes!"

The blonde woman finally stopped on the footpath outside Granny's diner. She turned to glare at Lacey, hands on her hips. "Tell me you didn't know about this," she said, her tone accusing.

"Do I look like I knew?" Lacey asked, holding up her heels pointedly. "Would I have come chasing after you if I knew?"

"Maybe," Emma replied dryly. "Maybe he sent you out to try and make sure I don't say anything."

"I don't care if you say anything or not. I just don't want you to think I was in on this. I'm sorry, Emma. If I'd known…" Lacey bit her bottom lip. She probably wouldn't have said anything even if she had known beforehand. But she wouldn't tell Emma that. Just like she would never let on that she knew before now that her husband had set the fire. "He's sneaky," she said helplessly, and shrugged, "I'm sorry, that's just the way he is."

"What if someone had gotten hurt?"

Lacey shook her head emphatically. "He wouldn't do that."

"How do you know?" Emma raised a hand to her head. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I don't know what to do about this. The debate is tonight. I can't just sit on this, but… he's right. I can't win without it."

"Just… Take some time to think about it," Lacey suggested, limping forward so she could pat Emma's shoulder reassuringly. "You'll make the right decision, whatever it turns out to be."

Emma shook her head. She gave Lacey an odd look. "Why are you with him?" she asked, a familiar question that had been asked over and over for as long as Lacey could recall. "You're so different. I don't get it."

Lacey shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted. "Sometimes I'm not sure… But then when I'm with him I remember. Love is strange, you know? Sometimes you just can't help it."

"I guess…" The blonde woman sighed. "I better go. I should get back to the station. I'm still acting sheriff… for now at least."

.

* * *

.

The hall was crowded, practically everyone had come to watch the speeches and debate between Emma and Sidney. Mr Gold had a front row seat, and a few rows over his wife was pretending not to be talking to him. Purely for Emma's benefit, of course. He was glad she seemed to have retained her duplicitousness even in her cursed state.

Finally, after what seemed like an age of boring speeches, Emma stepped onto the stage. She looked nervous, out of sorts. Public speaking clearly wasn't her kind of thing.

"You guys all know I have what they call a, uh… Troubled past. But, you've been able to overlook it because of the, um… Hero thing." Emma paused as some of the crowd applauded, looking even more comfortable than before. She waited until the noise settled down, then straightened, seeming to come to a decision. "But here's the thing – the fire was a setup. Mr Gold agreed to support me in this race, but I didn't know that that meant he was going to set a fire. I don't have definitive evidence, but I'm sure. And the worst part of all this was – the worst part of all this is – I let you all think it was real. And I can't win that way. I'm sorry."

With that, Emma walked off stage.

Mr Gold stood, aware that much of the hall was now watching him as he exited the hall. He waited until he was outside before he smiled. She had no idea what she had just done, of course, but he was willing to bet that she'd just won herself the election.

He was proved right later that night when Lacey reported that the mayor had stopped by Granny's to hand over the sheriff's badge to Emma. It wasn't much of a leap to assume that Emma would find her way to the police station soon afterwards.

Her car was already outside when he arrived, the door unlocked. He entered without knocking and found her standing in front of Graham's old desk. "Miss Swan," he greeted her, "or should I say, Sheriff Swan."

Emma turned to look at him, distrust on her face. "Gold… You do know I'm armed, right?"

"I came to congratulate you," he said, ignoring her hostility, "and to explain a few things. You see, it was all a part of the act, my dear. Political theatre, played out in front of the whole town. I knew no one was going to vote for you unless we gave you some kind of extraordinary quality, and I'm afraid saving our lovely Mayor from the fire just wasn't going to do that. We had to give you a higher form of bravery. They had to see you defy me – and you did."

Disbelief shone clear in her blue-grey eyes. "No way. There's no way you planned that."

"Everyone's afraid of Regina," Mr Gold explained calmly, "but they're more afraid of me. By standing up to me, you won them over. It was the only way."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "You knew I'd agree."

He chuckled darkly. "Oh yes. I know how to recognise a desperate soul."

Emma shook her head. "Why did you do this?"

Mr Gold considered his answer for a moment. He could tell her the truth – that unless Emma was in a position of power she would never find enough of a foothold in the town to defy Regina (which she would need to do, and frequently). He could claim to be destiny's helping hand. Or he could simply give her _a_ truth.

"We made a deal some time back, Miss Swan. We established that you owed me a favour. I know that can be a bad feeling – owing someone. Now that you're Sheriff, I'm sure we'll find some way for you to pay back what you owe me. Congratulations."

He left her standing there in front of the desk, her jaw clenched, the sound of his cane on the floor echoing a little in the empty office. It was the truth, but not the whole truth. In this game, no good move was ever made for just one reason.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: Apparently I'm now posting every Sunday instead of every Monday. Thankyou to those of you who took the time to review, I always love hearing feedback on my work.

Beware English spellings and possible Britishisms.

.

* * *

.

Over the next few weeks small instances began to pile up, signs that the curse was weakening. Things began to change, and while Mr Gold kept a close watch he rarely had to interfere to keep things going according to plan. Instead he focused his time and energy on two things… the running of his business as both landlord and shop owner, and slowly repairing his relationship with Lacey. Since the incident with Emma at the shop Lacey had been coming to see him there more frequently, taking him at his word when he said she was welcome there any time. They began to form something of a routine, Tuesdays and Thursdays when she would bring lunch. It reminded him a little of what tea time used to be in the Dark Castle. It was nice, and the more time he spent with her the more he began to see the Belle hiding under Lacey's skin.

It was through Lacey that Mr Gold got the most comprehensive updates on the happenings of Storybrooke. It seemed Emma had taken her at her word when Lacey had claimed to know nothing about the fire, and ever since the two of them had been friendly. Perhaps not enough to call them friends, more like social acquaintances, but enough that Lacey got the worm's eye view of the goings on in Storybrooke.

He wasn't entirely sure why she kept him updated on the local gossip, but he was grateful for it none the less.

According to Lacey it seemed that Mary-Margaret and David Nolan had resumed their affair, to nobody's surprise (largely because, apparently, nobody noticed, which made them blind and deaf in her words). And on top of that Storybrooke's second ever stranger had come to town. 'A mysterious young man on a motorbike' is how Lacey described him. Like everyone else in town, Mr Gold was interested in the sudden appearance of someone new. Though unlike everyone else Mr Gold was aware of why they might have gotten their second visitor to Storybrooke. The curse, it seemed, was weakening.

And then came a small distraction.

Regina entered his shop with a briefcase and a plan, one that apparently required the procurement of some of his land. At first Mr Gold wasn't having any of it, and then she said the only words that could have made him reconsider selling land to the town.

"A playground," Regina explained, unfurling a set of blueprints across his desk, "for the children, to replace that horrible death trap by the beach."

"Playgrounds don't normally require so much secrecy."

"I want it to be a surprise," Regina said, looking slightly uncomfortable, "for Henry."

It was the way she seemed awkward admitting it that got him, that and how he'd always had a soft spot for children after having lost his own. In retrospect he probably should have been more suspicious, but by the time it occurred to him that this was a plan with layers he'd already committed to the sale.

It was made especially obvious when his phone rang a handful of days later, at about the time Regina had promised the last cash payment for his land. Mr Gold picked up the receiver and barely had time to say hello before Regina's voice was in his ear; "I'll meet you tonight at Access Road Twenty Three with the rest of your payment."

"Ah, Regina," Mr Gold said, "how very covert."

"Yes, it will all be in cash," she said, as if he hadn't spoken. "And I don't need to remind you that no one can know about this."

"Except, of course, whoever you expect to listen to this phone call, yes?"

"Yes, I know it has to be tonight."

"Subtlety is not your strong suit, Regina," Mr Gold drawled, "but I'll play along. Tonight, access road twenty-three."

Regina hung up, leaving him simultaneously amused by her ploy and annoyed that he'd been made accomplice to it. No doubt Regina was hatching some sort of plot to make Emma look bad. That would explain why her little toady, Sidney Glass, was no longer hanging on her every word. It would take more than a miracle to get Sidney to forget that his world revolved around the Mayor. Still… one way or another it would serve a purpose. Emma would get a better idea of who she was dealing with, alongside just how far Regina would go to make things difficult.

Since Regina hadn't specified an exact time he had to assume she meant 'tonight' in the sense of 'when it gets dark'. He played along, as he'd said he would, merely telling Lacey he'd be home late and taking the shortcut through the woods. Proper skulduggery required proper discretion, and his big black car wasn't exactly discreet. Regina was waiting there already when he arrived, a simple black briefcase held in her perfectly manicured hands.

The hand-over was disappointingly dull, though Regina seemed unusually smug even for her. Mr Gold took the briefcase without more comment than a bland thankyou and began the walk back to Storybrooke proper. This time along the road, as assumedly the sneaky part of their transaction as over with.

He heard the commotion before he saw it. Emma and Sidney, arguing on the road. That answered more than enough for him. "… what she's doing and why she's out here," Emma was saying.

"She was meeting me," Mr Gold interjected as he approached.

Emma whirled around. She looked him up and down as if looking for physical evidence of duplicity. "What are you doing out here with her?"

"Just a little business transaction."

Sidney Glass eyed him suspiciously, a remarkably good actor given what Mr Gold knew. "What's in the briefcase?"

"Everything comes at a price. Land is no different." He knew now that the briefcase was for show. The last of the cash payment could have easily fit into an envelope. Regina had wanted the payment to be obvious, stereotypical. Clearly she had seen too many gangster films.

"That's why you're meeting her out here?" Emma asked. "Regina bought your land?"

"The very ground you're standing on," Mr Gold confirmed.

"What does she want it for?"

"You know," Mr Gold said idly, "in business, I find it's best not to ask too many questions. Hurts the bottom line. The question is, Emma – why are you standing out here in the middle of the night with Mr Glass?"

Sidney, sensing that his deception was under fire, puffed out his chest. "You don't know what Regina did to me. You don't know what she did to her son. We can't just sit idly by."

"Of course you can't," Mr Gold said, somewhat condescendingly. "I would be careful though, if I were you. Emotional entanglements can lead us down very dangerous paths." He nodded a polite goodbye, "sheriff Swan, Mr Glass."

.

* * *

.

As expected, the stunt Regina was planning went off without a hitch. Emma got to look the fool in front of the town council, while Regina got to play the saint with her new playground. Mr Gold just shook his head, hoping this would make Emma more determined and less trusting.

Given that she walked off with Sidney Glass, even if the former was a given the latter was doubtful.

.

* * *

.

It was a good day.

The day before Valentine's day was normally a quiet, if hectic, day as people planned their romantic retreats and sought out last-minute gifts. Mr Gold, who had already had his gifts planned for weeks now, had nothing to do but get on with work. Work which, at present, currently happened to be quite pleasant.

"Well," he said cheerily, walking casually up the street with his repo man (hired every now and then for jobs like this), "this is just perfect. I've been looking for you, Mr French."

He had no real reason to hate this man in the Enchanted Forest. Maurice had never shown any inclination towards attempting to have Belle break her deal, nor had he tried to rescue her. In fact, he had never even written her letters. An absent father under those circumstances was nothing to be offended by, but Storybrooke's version of Maurice had done things differently.

Moe French, florist, misogynist, and all-around terrible father. Who according to Mr Gold's records still had the audacity to come to him for a loan. A high interest loan that Mr French had apparently had difficulty paying off.

French was in the process of unloading stock from the back of his shiny new van. He stopped what he was doing and looked at Mr Gold with obvious distaste. "I'll have your money next week."

In a way, Mr Gold was pleased that he chose to answer that way. "The terms of the loan were fairly specific. I'm afraid you don't have until next week." He nodded to the repo man. "Take the van."

The repo man moved, getting into the driver's seat without any fuss. Moe didn't try to stop him, he wasn't that stupid.

"Wait," Moe pleaded instead, "no! Tomorrow's Valentine's Day. It's the biggest day of – hey!" He cried as the van revved to life and began to drive away. "I've got a grand in roses in the back!"

"Collateral is collateral, Mr French."

"Stop!" Moe half-heartedly tried to flag down the van. When he realised it wasn't stopping he turned back to Mr Gold. "You've got to let me sell them."

"I'm afraid I don't need to let you do anything. Good day Mr French."

He left Moe fuming on the side of the road, barely listening to his ranting as he crossed to the other side of the street where a sour point stood waiting to ruin his good mood.

"Mr Gold," Regina drawled. "That was quite a show."

"Mr French is just having a bad day," he demurred, "happens to the best of us." He nodded to the mayor and continued walking, somewhat annoyed when she started to walk with him.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

"Yes. And the moment you have something I want to discuss, we'll have that little chat."

"No," Regina insisted, "we're going to do this now. It'll only take a moment."

Mr Gold stopped, turning to face Regina. "Is there something eating you, dear? Something you need to get out in the open? Cause it's going to have to wait. Please."

Regina took a step back, the motion almost involuntary. Her mouth snapped shut, biting off whatever it was she'd been about to say. Satisfied with the reaction, Mr Gold continued walking, his mood improving with every step. Today was a good day.

.

* * *

.

The front door was open.

No lights were on in the house, and even in her most scatterbrained (drunken) states Lacey wasn't the kind of person to forget to lock the door when she went out. She also wasn't the sort of person who napped in the middle of the day, which ruled out absentmindedly leaving the door open while she went upstairs. No, something wasn't right here.

Mr Gold entered the house cautiously. He stopped at the hall table and slid open a hidden compartment – one of the many useful things common in antique furniture – to retrieve a small revolver pistol. He raised his cane off the floor so the sound wouldn't give him away and limped carefully down the hallway.

A noise behind him made him spin, only to come face to face with the sheriff and her gun pointed squarely at his chest. "Sheriff Swan," he greeted her mildly, letting his own gun drop.

Emma lowered hers as well, then tucked it back into its holster on her belt. "Your neighbour saw your front door open," she explained, "they called it in."

"It would appear I've been robbed," Mr Gold said dryly, not keen on the idea. There were a lot of valuable things in the house, some whose value was purely sentimental.

"Funny how that keeps happening to you," Emma quipped, equally as dry.

"Yeah, well, I'm a difficult man to love." He put the gun away back in its drawer. "I suppose," he said, "we'd best find out what's missing."

They went through the house room by room, starting with the ground floor. To her credit, Emma didn't comment on the furnishings or contents one way or the other, only looking for signs of disturbance. Most of the ground floor was untouched, but his office door lay ajar. There the signs of someone rummaging through the office were obvious. Papers lay strewn everywhere, drawers open, files pulled from their proper place. Mr Gold saw what was missing immediately and cursed softly to himself. He should have put the damn thing back in the safe even if he _had_ intended to give it to her tonight!

"A necklace," he told Emma, holding up the scraps from the tissue paper it had been wrapped in, "antique, gold with a grey quartz cabochon."

"That's all?" Emma asked, eyebrow raised.

"It appears so." Mr Gold's hand was tight around the head of his cane, knuckles turning white. He even had a good idea who had taken it. In fact, he would bet on it. "I suppose you can go now, Miss Swan. I can take it from here."

"Excuse me?" Emma crossed her arms stubbornly. "This was a robbery – a public menace. And if you don't tell me what you know, I'll have to arrest you for obstruction of justice. I have a feeling you don't want to be behind bars."

Mr Gold eyed her thoughtfully. She meant it too, he could tell. He sighed. "Indeed not. Alright, his name's Moe French. He sells flowers. He recently defaulted on a loan. A short time ago, we had a little disagreement over collateral."

"Moe French," Emma repeated. "Ok. I'll go check him out."

"I should also let you know… He's Lacey's father."

"Her… What?"

"He disowned her some time ago when she married me." Mr Gold gave the sheriff a tight smile. "Just thought you might like to know what sort of man you'll be dealing with."

"I see."

.

* * *

.

When Lacey returned to the house Mr Gold was still in his office, sitting at his desk and glowering at the scraps of tissue paper in front of him. Lacey almost walked right past before she noticed the office door was open, which it normally wasn't, and that her husband was inside. She stopped in the doorway, looking concerned. "Is everything alright?"

Surprised by the intrusion into his thoughts, Mr Gold looked up. "No," he said after a moment, "I'm afraid we've been robbed."

"Robbed?" Lacey repeated with a gasp, wide eyes immediately flicking to the frame that hid the wall safe from view. "What did they take? Do you know who it is? Should I call the sheriff's department?"

"Already done. Miss Swan is on the case. As to who it was and what was taken… I'm not sure I should tell you."

Lacey's concern turned into puzzlement, then a particularly dark frown crossed her face. "I heard at the diner that you repo'ed Moe's van. This wouldn't have anything to do with that, would it?"

"Astute." There was no point in covering it up. She'd find out sooner or later, the way people talked in this town. Mr Gold sighed. "I didn't want you to be upset," he admitted.

"What did he take?"

"Lacey…"

"What did he take?" she repeated, each word getting slightly louder and slightly harsher until she was glaring at him as if just _daring_ him not to answer.

There she is, he thought to himself fondly, my Belle. Out loud he said; "I was going to give it to you tonight. A necklace, solid gold with a gray stone. Very pretty and, unfortunately, worth a small fortune."

Lacey's eyes narrowed dangerously, and her delicate hands curled into fists at her side. "He did this on purpose," she hissed. "He must have known what it was." She turned on her heel and stalked away down the hall, violet heels clacking harshly against the wood flooring. By the time Mr Gold had stood up she was already opening the front door, jacket slung over one arm, purse in her hand.

"Lacey," Mr Gold called after her.

She paused on the front step. "I'm going after him," she told him firmly, "you can come, or you can let me go, but you are not stopping me."

"Would I do such a thing?" Mr Gold wanted to know, grabbing his car keys from the bowl on the hall table. "I was merely going to suggest we take my car. Easier than walking."

They drove to Moe's house first. Car parked at the back of the house where it couldn't be seen from the road, Mr Gold let Lacey jimmy open the back door. "I can't believe he still hasn't fixed this," she muttered, pushing open the back door with remarkably little effort. Lacey stepped inside first, high heels echoing on the tile in the laundry room. Mr Gold followed, watching his wife efficiently and thoroughly search the small cottage for any sign of the missing choker. After overturning the entire cottage they had found nothing and retreated back to the car. Lacey was fuming in the front seat, twisting the strap of her purse around in her fingers.

"The shop perhaps?" Mr Gold suggested mildly.

"If he's not at the house that's where he'll be," Lacey agreed.

Game of Thorns was a fairly large floristry on the opposite end of main street to Mr Gold's shop. They parked the car opposite the store – no need for secrecy here, as far as anyone knew they were just going in to buy flowers (and on top of that he was well within his rights to politely ask that his property be returned) – and walked briskly across into the store. The smell of flowers permeated the air, sweet and fresh, bouquets arranged in artful splashes of colour about the store.

There were refrigerators out the back to keep the flowers fresh, and a large office that doubled as a staff break room. Mr Gold headed straight for that room, this time taking the lead and letting Lacey trail along behind him. Sure enough, Moe French was standing by his desk, staring down at a stack of bills and invoices spread across the surface. On top of those something sparkled and glinted in the light. It was hard to miss.

"Mr French," Mr Gold greeted the other man coolly, "so good to see you."

Moe turned around, fists clenched, face red and sweaty as if he'd been running. "You," he said angrily, "you have no right –"

"In fact I do," Mr Gold interrupted him, "I practically own this store as it is… and you have something that belongs to me."

"That's it?" Lacey asked, looking at the choker that lay in a crumpled heap on the desk and not her father. "That's the necklace? Of course it is," she answered herself a moment later, "what other gold necklace would you have just lying around?"

"Lacey, I can explain," Moe began. "He repossessed the van. He gave me no choice. I had to do it."

"Of course." Mr Gold's lips twisted into a wry smirk. "I'm the bad guy here. I'm the one who defaulted on his loan payments three months in a row, who broke into another's house and stole an incredibly valuable piece of jewellery."

"You, shut up!" Moe shouted. "If it weren't for you I wouldn't have needed to! If it weren't for you I'd still have my little girl!"

Lacey moved much quicker than Mr Gold would have expected her to while wearing such tall heels. She stomped forward, swinging her purse hard into her father's shoulder. "How dare you! I am _not_ your little girl, you made that very clear a long time ago, so don't you dare try and use me as an excuse!"

"Well said," Mr Gold agreed. "Now… hand over the necklace, Mr French."

If it was even possible, Moe's face turned a deeper shade of red. "Hand over the…!?" he raged. "You've practically bankrupted me!"

"And that does not belong to you," Mr Gold pointed at the necklace with his cane. "In fact, it was to be a present for your daughter."

Lacey whacked her father with her purse again. "Hand it over now and I might _think_ about not pressing charges."

"You're _my_ daughter!" Moe shouted back, stepping to the side before she could hit him once more.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. "Well," Emma said dryly, standing just inside the office door, "I see you got here first."

"Sheriff Swan," Mr Gold greeted the blonde woman tightly, "how nice of you to join us."

"Is that the stolen property?" Emma asked, indicating the gold on the desk. When Mr Gold nodded, the sheriff went and picked up the necklace. She examined it a moment, then handed it over to Mr Gold. "It doesn't look like it's been damaged."

Mr Gold examined the necklace for himself, finding the delicate hinges and clasp unbroken. "Not the most romantic setting," he commented dryly, but offered it to Lacey anyway.

Though obviously still fuming at her father, Lacey took the necklace and carefully slid it around her neck. She fumbled a moment with the catch, but after a moment the gold choker lay against her skin as if it belonged there. Made for her. She ran her fingers along the lacework, touched the stone at the center, and let her hand drop. "It's lovely," she told him with a small smile. Then her eyes hardened and she added to Moe; "No thanks to you."

"Are you going to press charges?" Emma asked. "I mean, the necklace is recovered, nothing else was taken. Either way I'm going to have to get statements from all of you."

The threat of pressing charges seemed to bring home how serious the situation could be, and the colour drained from Moe's face. "Please," he said, "it wasn't my fault…"

Mr Gold looked at his wife expectantly, making it clear he'd be taking his cues from her. Lacey bit her lip. To him it was obvious that she wanted to press charges. She was angry, and bitter, and she knew letting Moe off with a warning wouldn't discourage him from further stupidity in the future. But on the other hand she wanted Emma to like her, and pressing charges against a family member was a good way to appear heartless.

Lacey sighed. "No," she said eventually, sounding defeated, "no, we wont press charges."

"There you have it," Mr Gold said. He placed a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Now, this has been a very trying day, I'm sure you understand. I'm going to take Lacey home, and then I'll stop by the sheriff's department to give our statements."

"I'll need a statement from Lacey too," Emma pointed out, but seemed to think better of it when she got a good look at the other woman. "But I can get that another day. Ok, Mr French," she said, "I guess it's you and me."

It was time to make their retreat. Mr Gold led his wife back to the car, glancing back at her every now and then to make sure she was alright. She kept touching the choker as if reassuring herself it was still there. In the car she flipped down the visor and looked at herself in the mirror, seeing how she looked with it on.

The choker was obviously expensive, delicately made but simple enough that it didn't look strange when paired with her current simple blue dress and dark jacket. It was fancier than anything most people in Storybrooke would wear and was bound to catch people's attention. Lacey smiled. "It's beautiful," she told him, stroking her index finger over the gray cabochon.

"It's yours," Mr Gold replied. "From the moment I saw it, I knew it was meant for you."

Impulsively, Lacey leaned over in the car and kissed him. It was the first time he could recall her ever doing so in public.

.

* * *

.

He got to the sheriff's department a few minutes before five, long after Moe French had left to return to his store. The place was empty except for the sheriff herself, who sat filling out paperwork at her desk, half a sandwich on a plate to the side. Mr Gold cleared his throat as he approached.

"You know," he said, "if it were up to me I would have pressed charges."

"Then Lacey's a better person than you are," Emma observed. "Have a seat Gold," she said, getting out a fresh set of papers from the desk drawer, "lets talk about what happened today."

Mr Gold was half way through detailing his and Lacey's entry into the florist shop when the mayor strode into the station, son in tow.

"Sheriff Swan?" Regina interrupted Mr Gold's dialogue. "I'm letting you have thirty minutes with Henry. Take him out – buy him icecream."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Right now? I'm still on the clock here."

"Twenty-nine and a half minutes," Regina replied archly.

"Go," Mr Gold advised her, sensing that he was about to have his chat with Regina whether he wanted to or not, and if wasn't now then she'd only engineer a different interruption later on. "This can wait."

"Alright," Emma agreed reluctantly. She grabbed her coat from the back of her chair and went to greet Henry.

Mr Gold waited until they were gone before he spoke again, voice dry. "Well, you really wanted that little chat, didn't you?"

"Apparently this is the only way I could catch you," Regina replied caustically. She took a seat opposite from him, the same seat Emma had been sitting in before, giving herself the appearance of a position of power.

"So," Mr Gold said, idly leaning back in the uncomfortable station chair, "I find it hard to believe that Moe French would decide to break into my house of his own accord. It seems quite out of character, wouldn't you say? Unless, of course, someone put him up to it."

"It is odd what some people will do with just the right suggestion," Regina commented. She wrinkled her nose at Emma's half-eaten sandwich and pushed it away.

"So you did put him up to it then?"

Regina smiled sweetly. "I merely suggested that strong men take what they need."

"Really?" Mr Gold asked mildly. "And I suppose you just happened to know what it was he needed."

Regina's smile didn't falter. She folded her hands together on top of the sheriff's desk. "We used to know each other so well, Mr Gold," she commented. "And now it seems like we're always on opposite sides."

"What is it you want, Regina?"

"I want you to answer one question," Regina replied, leaning forward, "and answer it simply. What's your name?"

"It's Mr Gold."

"Your real name," Regina pressed.

"Every moment I've spend on this earth," Mr Gold replied easily, "that's been my name."

"But what about moments spent elsewhere?"

"What are you asking me?" Mr Gold cocked his head slightly to one side as if puzzled, even though they both knew he wasn't. This was a game, as always, and he'd learned long ago never to show his hand before his opponent showed theirs.

"I think it's strange," Regina said, watching him very carefully, "that you would care so much about a dusty old choker, that you would give her _that_ choker in particular. I have a lot of influence in this town, Gold. I can make life very difficult for you."

"Ah. So that's how we're going to play?" Mr Gold smiled unpleasantly. "You're not a queen here, Ms Mayor. You might want to remember that before you go making any threats you can't follow through on."

"You know that choker is useless here, don't you?" Regina taunted. "The stone is gray. There's nothing left."

"Has it ever been any other colour?" Mr Gold asked, faking puzzlement.

"Tell me your name, Mr Gold. That's all I want."

This time, Mr Gold's smile was a razor. "I would be grateful," he said pointedly, "if you would never ask me that again. _Please_."

The look on Regina's face then was priceless, a voiceless rage as she both received her confirmation and was denied it. She stood abruptly, chair scraping across the floor, and stomped out of the station. Things would be interesting now between them, he knew.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: Apparently I'm now posting every Sunday instead of every Monday. Thankyou to those of you who took the time to review, I always love hearing feedback on my work.

Beware English spellings and possible Britishisms.

.

* * *

.

Lacey had taken to wearing her choker everywhere. She rarely took it off, except when she showered or went to bed, then only because the water might damage the stone setting and the hard metal made it difficult to get comfy. It made her feel different somehow, confident, loved. She found that when she wore it she cared less about the stares and gossip. It helped, of course, that there was now one woman in Storybrooke who would speak to her without a thin veneer of judgement to colour the conversation.

Lacey had also taken to having lunch at Granny's diner every day (except Tuesdays and Thursdays, which were spent in her husband's shop), having found the break in routine helped keep her writing flowing fresh when she went back to the house to work. She was there now, a shot of whiskey in her iced tea, carefully picking apart a muffin while she read a thin novella. She was engrossed in the story, hardly paying attention to anything around her, when a familiar tone of voice made her look up.

"...Oh, it's you," Granny was saying. And for once, her bland drawl was not directed at Lacey.

Surprised, Lacey looked for the source of Granny's derision and found Mary-Margaret Blanchard standing pitifully by the counter, dismay and disappointment on her pretty face. "Never mind," the teacher said, backing up a step. "I'll just skip the coffee."

Lacey hastily licked muffin-crumbs off her thumb and slid off her chair. "Wait," she said, taking out her purse. "Mary-Margaret." The teacher hesitated, looking at her uncertainly. "Sit with me," Lacey offered, mostly just for the affronted look on Granny's face. She waved her purse for emphasis. "My treat."

Mary-Margaret looked reluctant, eyes sliding from Lacey's sparkling blue purse to her short miniskirt and very tall heels. Eventually caffeine cravings and the need for acceptance must have won out. Mary-Margaret nodded. "Ok," she said, and took the seat next to Lacey's chair at the counter. "Um, just the usual please."

"Coming right up," Granny said shortly, then turned to harass her grand-daughter about hurrying up with people's orders.

Lacey sat back down, sliding her book out of the way. She sipped her tea, watching Mary-Margaret try not to look awkward. They'd look odd sitting like this, Lacey knew. Mary-Margaret was so sweet and conservative-looking, and Lacey was… not. "You shouldn't let them get to you," Lacey advised. "If they see you're uncomfortable it only makes them talk more."

"You know what happened?" Mary-Margaret asked softly.

"No," Lacey admitted frankly, "but I wasn't paying attention. And I'm usually the one people gossip about, not to."

"Kathryn Nolan came to the school."

That was all Mary-Margaret had to say. "Oh." A beat. "Maybe you should have ordered an Irish coffee instead."

The teacher glanced at Lacey's drink, and then looked quickly away. "I just… this isn't me. How did things turn into such a mess? I'm sorry, I shouldn't be whining. You stood up for me and now I'm offloading."

"No, no," Lacey shook her head, "whine away. I don't mind. Actually, it's nice to have someone talking to me for a change."

Mary-Margaret blinked at her. Then she blushed, rosy cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink than usual. "I guess we've never really spoken, have we?"

"Not really." Lacey grinned at the other woman. "I think you said 'excuse me' once at the corner shop, and that's about it."

"Why would you stand up for me?" Mary-Margaret asked, pausing awkwardly when Granny returned with her cappuccino in its takeaway cup. "You don't even know me."

Lacey shrugged. "I know what it's like to be talked about for no good reason. People assume you're one thing when you're not. They forget that things like this – me and Gold, you and David – happen all the time. Half the marriages in America don't last five years, did you know that? But everyone in this town goes around acting like it's some big scandal if the people in love weren't high school sweethearts."

"I guess." Mary-Margaret sighed. She shook her head, hands cupped around her warm drink. "I just wish it hadn't happened this way. I wish things were normal."

"Normal is boring," Lacey retorted, "wish for extraordinary."

The teacher smiled at her. "Maybe I will." She paused. "Thank you for the coffee, Lacey."

"You're welcome, Mary-Margaret."

.

* * *

.

Mr Gold, as far as he could remember, had never been a fan of Miner's Day or the festivities that came with it. He liked to avoid it, giving the crowd and the stalls a wide berth. True, it was a civic-minded event, and much of the proceeds from the stalls went to various projects about the town… But it was run by nuns. And Mr Gold had always held a dislike of nuns.

He had vague memories of attending a catholic elementary school in which the nuns were tyrants who believed in all of the old edicts, guilty until proven innocent, children must be seen and not heard, spare the rod and spoil the child. He was old enough to have missed the ban on corporal punishment in schools by a mere few years. Probably the nuns would have kept doing it even after it was deemed unacceptable. The nuns in this town were an odd lot as nuns went – younger than most, prettier than most, and not as conservative as the ones from his youth – but they were just as meddlesome and annoying as any others. If he recalled correctly it was the Mother Superior of this lot who had counseled Moe French after his daughter had moved out. Counsel that directly led to Mr French publicly disowning his only child.

The other memories made his dislike even sharper. Fairies. Treacherous little goody-goodies who were incapable of giving advice without self-righteous recriminations, and whose rules kept them from helping those who truly needed it. The Blue Fairy was the worst of them. Always there to lend a bit of helpful advice that inevitably led to tears, so wrapped up in her own goodness that she was totally blind to the idea that bad people might be capable of good things (and vice versa). He could clearly recall the Blue Fairy telling Snow White and Prince Charming that Belle was a liar, a creature of darkness who was not to be trusted. And on top of that, it was the Blue Fairy who had interfered with his son, leading to Baelfire's disappearance from their world and into this one.

So yes, Mr Gold didn't like nuns. Which is why it was only with the greatest reluctance that he was letting Lacey drag him out to the town square to participate in all of this Miner's Day fluff.

"It might be fun," she insisted, keeping a firm grip on his arm as they walked together so he couldn't slip away and disappear into his shop. "You could scare people," she suggested cheekily. "You know you enjoy that."

"I do not enjoy scaring people," Mr Gold corrected her, "I enjoy maintaining a reputation for ruthlessness."

"Which scares people." Lacey smiled up at him. She was wearing the only pair of sensible heels she owned as a precaution against the grassy square, a set of black kitten heels that made her seem much shorter than usual. "We've never been before," she pressed, adding a pout for good measure, "and Mary-Margaret asked me."

"Miss Blanchard?" Mr Gold raised his eyebrows. "Asked you to attend?"

"I think she doesn't want to be the only harlot in attendance. She's quite nice, for a schoolteacher."

"Of course you would get along." Two stubborn, strong-minded women (though for the most part Mary-Margaret Blanchard didn't seem to recall that she was stubborn or strong-minded), both the subject of gossip. Of course they would wind up friendly towards one another. Mr Gold sighed. "Alright. But don't expect me to enjoy myself."

"Look, there she is." Lacey forced him to turn, steering them in the direction of the candle booth. She was surprisingly strong for such a wee thing. "Let's go and say hi."

Mary-Margaret's candle booth was full to the brim with merchandise, but judging from the number of unopened boxes and the almost manic look on her face she hadn't been having much luck in selling them. Leroy standing next to her, surly and intimidating, an open box of candles in front of him, did not appear to be helping much.

"No luck?" Lacey asked as they approached.

"Not yet," Mary-Margaret replied, her smile strained. "But we're sure to start selling sometime!"

Lacey took her hands away from her husband's arm and fished a note out of her purse. "Call me your first customer then."

"Great!" Mary-Margaret chirped, accepting the note. She handed over a candle, which Lacey tucked (unsuccessfully, half of it sticking out of the top) into her tiny beaded bag.

"Great," Leroy echoed dryly, "that makes one. One sale. I'm telling you sister, we're not having any luck here."

"I'm sure things will pick up," Lacey replied. "I was just going to drag my dear husband over to get a drink. Can I get you guys something?"

Mary-Margaret shook her head. "Oh, no, we're fine. Thanks for thinking of us though."

As threatened, Mr Gold found himself standing outside a booth that sold overpriced drinks, glowering at the crowd as his wife cheerfully ignored any and all looks thrown in their direction. After that he was dragged to a dart game, and further blackmailed by Lacey's pout into winning something for her. Only two things made his suffering worth it. One, Lacey was having a ball. And two, his mere presence at the Miner's Day festival seemed to be causing something of a stir.

The third thing that made the outing worth it was when he overheard two of the nuns talking in low, concerned voices about how one particularly foolish member of their number had gone and spent all of their money on helium, leaving them short for the entire month. Hearing that made him smile. He owned the building the nuns called their convent, and rent was due in only six short days.

Hearing that made the experience of being dragged from booth to booth almost pleasant. Enough so that when Leroy approached him with an expression of grim resignation Mr Gold was able to keep his voice pleasant as he said firmly; "No. Whatever it is, no."

"You haven't even heard what I was going to say," Leroy protested.

"I'm going to guess it has something to do with nuns and candles. Am I right?" Leroy didn't answer, instead just looking surly. Mr Gold smiled his most blandly pleasant smile. "Then no. Not a chance in hell."

Leroy cursed and stomped off, just as Lacey appeared at his arm with a luridly pink stick of cotton candy. "What was that about?" she asked.

Mr Gold shrugged. "Who knows." Feeling perversely pleased with himself, he stole a piece of cotton candy and popped it into his mouth before Lacey could protest. "Shall we continue wandering, my dear?"

As night fell the town square was lit up by a multitude of lanterns and strings of lights hung between stalls. The smell of hot food began to seep through the air on the breeze, soft music coming from speakers set up around the festival. Mr Gold was just about to suggest to his wife that they call it a day when there was a sudden spark from the transformer near the town hall. Lights blinked, then went out, and the entire festival was plunged into darkness. For a moment Mr Gold could hardly see a thing, then a small flame lit up the night.

Lacey had pulled the candle from her bag and fished out a lighter from somewhere. She lit the candle, then let the lighter go out. "Good thing I bought one," she said as the crowd moved around them, all of them suddenly headed towards the candle booth. "Copycats," she accused with a smirk.

Mr Gold shook his head. From the looks of things there would be no evictions in his future. "I would almost say someone planned that."

"And for once it wasn't you," Lacey teased. She slid her arm around his again, pressing close to his side. She smelled like cotton candy, popcorn and beer. Her smile was infectious. "Should we go home?"

"I think we should."

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* * *

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It was two weeks after she left for her course in Boston that the wreck of Kathryn Nolan's car was found upside down in a ditch near the town border. It took so long because, as Henry often observed, nobody ever left Storybrooke. And if nobody ever left, nobody ever had a reason to get that close to the border.

According to inside sources (what Lacey repeated to him after bumping into Sheriff Swan on one of her lunch outings) David had experienced a sudden bout of guilt over his treatment of his wife and had called her just before she left. Kathryn had explained that she didn't bear any grudges, that she wished him and Mary-Margaret well, and that she would call him once she was settled in Boston so they could begin talking about divorce. After he hadn't heard from her, David had tried calling her again. When he received no answer he'd then called the school Kathryn was supposed to be going to, only to discover she'd never shown up. Worried about her, he'd then gone to the sheriff who, on a hunch, had organised a search.

It was sheer luck that Emma, and not one of the volunteer searchers, had come across the car.

The body had been in a bad way. Dr Whale, who (appropriately, Mr Gold thought) doubled as their coroner, declared that Kathryn had died of a broken neck sustained when her car's airbags failed to deploy.

A tragedy, but a natural one.

As Kathryn's next of kin, David Nolan was in charge of funeral arrangements. Throughout it all Mary-Margaret was never far from his side, a stalwart presence who offered support without judgement. Lacey and Emma were there too, as support for Mary-Margaret (and David only by extension). It was through Lacey's involvement, and her suddenly firm friendship with both women, that Mr Gold wound up the executor of Kathryn's estate.

"You're lucky she had a will at all," he told David Nolan, barely a day after having grudgingly accepted the job of being Kathryn Nolan's posthumous attorney. He was seated at his desk in the back room of his shop, David Nolan in the chair on the opposite side, the will in question on the desk between them. "Most people don't even think about that sort of thing until they've retired. She has, of course, left everything to you. Her share of the house, what was in her accounts, even her grandmother's jewellery."

David rubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired. The memorial service was scheduled for later that day. A memorial, not a funeral, because Kathryn's body had already been too decomposed for a successful embalming when she was found to the point where even a closed-casket funeral was out of the question. Instead David had already interred his wife in her family's plot at the Storybrooke graveyard. The memorial service would be for her friends, not for him. Just a way for the town to say goodbye. "I expected that," he admitted softly. "I know I was her only family in town. We were going to discuss getting a divorce when she was settled in Boston. I guess she would have updated her will then."

"As executor of her estate I can handle any sales you might wish to make," Mr Gold suggested delicately. "I understand you were planning on moving out of your house anyway…"

David looked up, startled, then slowly nodded. "Yeah, I… I mean, it wouldn't seem right living there now."

"I know this might come across as being crass, but have you considered what you're going to do with her things?"

"I… I don't know. Donate it, I guess. Most of it. I don't know what to do with her grandmother's jewellery. She loved those necklaces." He swallowed hard, blinking his eyes rapidly. A couple of deep breaths and David was composed enough to speak; "It seems wrong to just get rid of them, but… I don't know what else I could do with them."

"Might I suggest keeping them here?"

"Here?" David frowned.

Mr Gold nodded. "I would be happy to keep them here in the shop for you – off the main floor of course, away from prying eyes – until you feel you're ready to decide what to do with them."

"I don't know… what's your price?"

The suspicion that shone through David's haggard stare was familiar enough that it made Mr Gold want to smile. He didn't. "For this?" he asked. "How about we say you'll owe me a very small favour?"

David thought about it for a minute, staring resolutely at his late wife's will. He'd sell the house, donate her things, and soon the inconvenient stresses that came with a family member's death would be out of the way. All except the jewellery. "Deal," he said eventually. "As long as you take care of selling the house too. I don't know if I can deal with that right now."

Mr Gold nodded. "Consider it done." He stood and reached out to shake David's hand, the other man moving half a second behind him. "I am," he said, "terribly sorry for your loss."

Mr Gold did not attend the memorial service. Having had very few dealings with Kathryn Nolan it would have looked strange. Lacey attended though, if only to be Mary-Margaret's moral support. She'd laughed when she told him that, searching through her side of the walk-in for a black dress that fell to a respectable length. In the end she'd had to go shopping for something 'sensible' to wear, since it seemed like she didn't own any skirts of appropriate length for a memorial.

Mr Gold spent the afternoon where he normally did, in his shop, confident that he'd hear all about the memorial later. He was putting away his copy of Kathryn's will when he heard the door's bell chime. In the front of the shop Henry stood, looking around curiously.

"Henry," Mr Gold greeted him, "I thought you would be at the memorial."

"My mom didn't want me to go," Henry replied with a shrug. "I'm supposed to be at home, but… I want to get a gift for Mr Nolan, since he's having such a bad time."

"Admirable. Did you have anything in mind?"

"I don't know." Henry looked around, his gaze falling on a set of silver-plated bells. "Are those bells? Cool."

Mr Gold smoothly took the set out from the counter for the boy to look at. They were expensive, as was everything in the shop, but Mr Gold's soft spot for children might just lead to a heavy discount. He was just thinking that as he heard a noise from the back of the store. He frowned slightly.

"Are these real silver?" Henry was asking. "Are they really expensive?"

"Excuse me a moment, Henry," Mr Gold said politely, "I just need to check on something. Let me know if there's anything you like."

"Wait," Henry said hastily.

Mr Gold ignored him, quietly walking into the shop's back room just in time to see the stranger, August Booth, poking through the back shelves. "May I help you?" Mr Gold asked.

August didn't quite jump, but he froze for a second before turning around with a smile on his face. "Yeah. I'm looking for some maps. I'm a bit of a collector."

A lie, bald-faced and obvious. Mr Gold's smile was cold. "Yes, well… There are maps in the shop. This is my office."

August looked back at the door, then around the office as if surprised. If he had intended the surprise to look authentic it didn't play very well, he could have tried much harder. "I thought this was the entrance," he said.

"It's not," Mr Gold replied flatly. He gestured with his cane to the shop floor. "The shop's through there. Along with plenty of maps."

August smiled at him. The sort of casual, unconcerned smile of a man used to charming his way out of trouble. He walked casually past Gold and through the shop, making the bell jingle as he left through the front door. Mr Gold followed in his wake to the shop counter, frowning deeply. Henry was still there by the bells, looking sheepish. "Friend of yours?" Mr Gold asked mildly.

"August?" Henry asked, transparently casual. For a ten year old he wasn't very good at lying. It was probably in his blood. "I've seen him around a couple of times. He's a writer, and he owns a motorbike."

"I see…"

A stranger comes to town as the curse begins to weaken, using a name that Mr Gold suspected was false, and proceeds to sneak into the back of his shop. He had clearly befriended Henry, and he was clearly after something. Something that, presumably, he had suspected of being in Mr Gold's office.

Mr Gold had no contracts outside Storybrooke (none that were real, anyway),and nobody in Storybrooke had ties to anyone outside of the town. For a stranger to come here specifically looking for something in _his_ office was suspicious enough. With all of those other bits of circumstance it began to look like something sinister.

He sold Henry one of the bells (at a loss, but a more than fair price for a ten year old), closed up shop temporarily, and made his way to the Nolan house. The wake was in full swing by the time he got there, a house full of sombre people dressed in black and having quiet conversations. A good deal of the food on the table hadn't been touched, though from the looks of it nobody was going thirsty. The sheriff was standing in a corner with Mary-Margaret. Mr Gold caught her eye and motioned to the hallway. Frowning, Emma excused herself from her friend.

The hallway was empty, even quieter than the soft murmur of the mourners in the other room. Emma waited for him there, her arms crossed. "What do you want, Gold?"

"I came to ask you a question. The stranger – what do you know about him?"

Emma frowned, needing a moment to catch on to who he was talking about. When she realised the frown lightened a touch, though it didn't disappear. "Goes by August." She answered plainly, seeing no reason not to. "He's a writer. Typewriter wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in stubble. Why?"

"He was poking around my shop today," Mr Gold admitted dryly. "I was just wondering if you knew anything about his credibility, his reason for being in town perhaps."

Emma shrugged. "People come and go from towns all the time," she replied, "maybe he's doing research for a book or something. I don't know. Frankly I don't care, as long as he doesn't cause any trouble."

"And do you have reason to suspect he might cause trouble?"

"No. The man's annoying, but he's not a troublemaker."

"You trust him?" Mr Gold asked frankly.

"At least more than I trust you," Emma answered, equally as frank.

"Then that's all I needed to know." Mr Gold turned, intending to leave. He wasn't convinced that the stranger was harmless. Emma stopped him before he could take more than one step.

"Gold… Listen, why don't you stay?"

Mr Gold raised an eyebrow, surprised by the invitation. "I can't imagine I'm welcome. I hardly knew Kathryn Nolan, and my relationship with David Nolan is strictly professional."

"Yeah, I know. Your relationship with everyone is strictly professional." Emma shrugged, then stuffed her hands into her jacket pocket. She was still dressed in her usual gear – jeans and jacket over a simple tank, her sheriff's badge clipped onto her belt. "Look, your wife's here. Maybe if you made some friends people wouldn't think you were some old monster."

"Some old…" Mr Gold chuckled, shock fading into amusement. This was Lacey's doing, no doubt. This is what came of his direct young wife making friends, she tricked them into thinking he was a nice man under this prickly façade. "Miss Swan, I have a business to run. Unfortunately, that business often involves taking money from half the people in that room over there."

"What about the other half?" Emma pressed.

"Did Lacey put you up to this?"

"No." Emma shifted her weight uncomfortably. "I'm not sure she'd want me to."

"I see. Well, let me make this clear." Mr Gold paused, just to give his next words the weight they deserved. "Pigs may fly."

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* * *

.

"Geez. Your husband's a real hoot," Emma commented, popping up on Lacey's left at the drinks table.

Lacey raised her eyebrows, quickly taking a sip of her wine. "Really?" She looked at Emma, noting her frown and the tight set of her shoulders. "What happened?"

"I told him he might want to join in, make some friends. He told me 'pigs may fly'."

Lacey hid a giggle. "Yeah, that sounds like him."

"How can you stand him?" Emma asked frankly. "Look, no offense, but that is not a nice guy you've got there."

"He's nice to me." Lacey picked up the open wine bottle again and poured another drink. She handed that one to Emma. "Here. You look like you need it. Where's David? I haven't seen him in a while."

"I think he's in the bathroom." Emma sighed. "I guess we should go get Mary-Margaret and find him. He shouldn't be alone."

Lacey nodded. She and Emma scanned the room, finding Mary-Margaret standing alone and awkward in a corner, watching the other guests. They recruited her easily into their David-hunt, the teacher agreeing that David shouldn't have to be alone. "I don't think he's comfortable with all of these people," she told them softly, "most of them were her friends, not his. He doesn't know what to say to them."

"How about we sneak him out and go somewhere quieter?" Emma suggested. "We can go to our place. Or we could go to Granny's. Ruby's good at cheering people up."

"If we do that I'll have to catch a ride with you," Lacey said. "We can pick up some pizza and beer on the way," she suggested, "some good bad food for a bad day."

Emma looked at them both. The three of them looked like complete opposites, all of them sitting somewhere completely different on the social scale. Lacey was a nouveau riche writer who drank too much and dressed like white trash, Mary-Margaret was a quiet school teacher who's style ran more towards vintage and pastels, and Emma was a tomboy with a sheriff's badge and a chequered past. Yet they all seemed to have things in common. And right now one of those things was hiding in the bathroom at the wake of his ex-wife's memorial.

"Alright," Emma said, "I think we've got a plan."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: I am posting this from a hotel room! Yay! Also, it's a bit longer than usual, so enjoy it.

RoxyMoron- You asked if there would be more about the necklace; It's more implied than outright explained in this story, since it's meant to be a sequel to another work, but the necklace is a protection/magic thing that Rumpelstiltskin gave Belle while in the Enchanted Forest.

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* * *

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Being the landlord came with some perks. One of which was a skeleton key that could be used on any of the room's in Granny's B'n'B. It was easy to slip past the old woman, who was busy in the diner, and after a quick check of the guest registry Mr Gold knew exactly which room he needed.

The room, like all the others at Granny's, was large and comfortably furnished. The bed was slightly rumpled, as if someone had been lying on it recently, and papers were strewn across the table. The rest of the room was pristine, barely touched.

Mr Gold checked the drawers, noting that nothing bad been put away in them. He checked the bag by the bed, finding only a traveller's bare necessities – clothes, a passport (August W. Booth, well travelled, the most recent set of stamps indicating that he'd recently flown back to the states from thailand) – and nothing else. Finally he checked the papers, sifting through them carefully. At the bottom of the stack was something that made his blood run cold.

A drawing. A near-perfect representation of his dagger. It was a little off, as if drawn either from a very good description or by someone who wasn't an artist by nature, but at the same time it was unmistakeable. Even without the name – his name, the _othe_r name – written along the dagger's blade.

It wouldn't have made sense, couldn't have, unless Mr Gold considered two very unsettling options. Both of which involved August somehow knowing about the curse, the Enchanted Forest, and the true nature of Storybrooke. Either someone had told him about it, unlikely since Regina was the only person who could have done so (or Henry, which would make August deranged to believe the word of a ten year old he'd only just met). Or August was originally from the Enchanted Forest himself, something Mr Gold found equally hard to swallow.

Nobody from this world could possibly have knowledge of the dagger, and only a very few people knew of it in their world. It was a short, very short, list. Though he couldn't discount the possibility that August had acquired this drawing from someone else.

Mr Gold replaced the drawing and withdrew from the room, unpleasant theories running through his head.

August Booth had secrets. Mr Gold was going to have to do a little more investigating if he wanted to find out what they were.

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* * *

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It took mere hours to track August's movement through the town since his arrival. The diner, the inn, a brief stop at the Rabbit Hole, all of which were perfectly normal and perfectly innocent. An afternoon spent at the town hall's record room, wherein according to the clerk he looked through maps of the area and nothing more. A visit to Archie Hopper, and a visit to the nuns.

Mr Gold went to Hopper first, as the more pleasant option of the two, and left with information that the good doctor really shouldn't be giving out about his patients (and the weak justification that August wasn't officially a client of Dr Hopper's). A visit to the convent confirmed what Hopper had given him, and left Mr Gold even more suspicious than he had been before.

He had to keep his head though. Everything he had was circumstantial – a fake name, a drawing, hearsay from a chirpy do-gooder psychiatrist and a holier-than-thou nun, and an attempted snooping through his office. Both the nun and the doctor referenced August's reluctance to reconnect with an estranged father, but Mr Gold was not the only father who had lost a son. Not in the Enchanted forest, where death was always looming and the number of whole families seemed outnumbered by the broken ones.

And there was also the possibility that August was lying. Laying a false trail and hoping to drum up just enough suspicion and circumstance to get something he needed. It was admirable, really. Or would have been, were _he_ not the target.

The only real way to know for sure was to confront him, to spring whatever trap it was that August thought he was setting up.

It was convenient, then, that he received a quick call from Lacey letting him know that she would be late home. Something about a misery-needs-company party at Mary-Margaret's. It gave him the time he needed to continue watching August. And the younger man did not disappoint.

It was always easier said than done to tail someone without being seen, but either August was blind or he wanted Mr Gold to follow him. Suspecting the second option, Mr Gold trailed him to a familiar cabin in the woods, where he watched August begin to search about, obviously looking for something. He waited until August had completed a circuit of the outside of the cabin before he approached.

"I know what you're looking for."

August stopped, looking at him with a guarded expression on his face, even though his lack of surprise meant that he'd been expecting this. "How would you know what I'm looking for?"

"Call it an educated guess…"

"Do you know why?" August asked, testing him.

Mr Gold's lips twisted into a wry smile, baiting the trap. "I have an idea or two about that, yeah."

"Well, then… I guess all the lying can stop." August hesitated. "Papa."

He'd half-expected to hear it, ever since speaking to that blasted nun. It was the perfect ploy, the perfect play to make if August expected to get something from him. Still, there was the possibility, however remote… For a moment Mr Gold just stared at the younger man, playing out his own shock to examine the man in front of him. The eyes were wrong. The face, the shape of the nose. Coldness trickled down his spine."Bae…"Mr Gold could barely raise his voice above a whisper. "You came back."

August looked down, feigning uncertainty with the perfect grace of a born liar. "I would have come to you sooner, but I wasn't sure how you'd react."

Feeling numb, Mr Gold walked forward, arms outstretched to embrace this pretender. He pulled the younger man close, rage making it easy for his voice to crack with emotion. "Oh, my boy. My Bae. Can you forgive me? Can you forgive an old fool? I was a coward, truly a coward. I know I can't make up for the past, but ever since, ever since I have dedicated my life to looking for you."

"I forgive you," August said, hands clutching firmly at Mr Gold's back just the way a son would.

The embrace lasted only a few seconds, but in Mr Gold's cold, calculating state it felt much longer. Finally he pulled away. "You were looking for the dagger," he said, keeping his voice soft and without accusation.

"I thought that if you still had it," August explained, "it would mean that you'd changed."

"I buried it in the woods," Mr Gold explained, turning away to lead the other man into the woods away from the cabin. "When Emma came to town things began changing. Didn't want to take the chance of Regina finding it."

"Sensible," August commented. "If the evil queen got her hands on it that could've been a disaster."

Another black mark against August's planning. Baelfire would never have known about the queen, would never have known about the curse.

Once he judged they were a far enough distance from the cabin, and therefore from the road, Mr Gold stopped. He waited for August to come to a stop just behind him, then turned on his good heel and struck quick as a snake, cane slamming into the side of August's knee.

The writer's leg buckled, though he caught his balance and didn't fall. Another blow – this one hooking the back of the knee – fixed that. August went down, an expression of utter shock on his face.

Mr Gold stood over him, poised and ready, gripping his cane with steady hands. It was amazing really, how easy it could become a weapon at need. "Did you really think," he hissed, "I would fall for that? You look nothing like him."

"I could have," August replied, sliding on the forest loam as he tried to get his legs under him again, "how would you know? He was a child, children grow up, he could look like anyone."

"I would know my son. You…" Mr Gold eyed the younger man, not missing the way he struggled to stand on the wrong leg- the one Gold hadn't hit. "You are a pretender, and a bad one at that. And now, you have exactly thirty seconds to tell me why."

"Or what?" August was up on his feet again, trying for a cocky smirk. "You'll kill me?"

"Oh no. I'll leave you very much alive." Mr Gold's smile was ice cold. "These woods are vast, dearie, and you're a long way from the road. I may not be myself exactly, but judging from the way you're standing just now it looks like I could break all of your limbs without you giving me much trouble. Care to test the theory?"

The cocky smile on August's face froze, then slipped away. Instead the younger man looked worried, truly worried, as if only just realising he may have bitten off more than he could chew. "I need magic," August said, all pretence, all lies and smooth charm gone, replaced with blind desperation, "I need a cure, and I need it fast. This was the only way I could think of."

"I see. Didn't occur to you to just ask, did it?" Not that it would have helped. "Now, how did you know about the dagger?"

"I hear things." August backed up, limping so heavily it looked more like hopping than walking, until he could brace himself against a tree. "A dagger that can command the Dark One. Stories like that? They tend to stick with you."

"You hear things from other worlds, apparently. Nobody here knows about the dagger."

"Nobody here remembers."

"So you are from our world. How about my other question?" Mr Gold asked silkily, making a show of changing his grip on the cane. If he struck August now it would be with the heavy brass head of the cane and not the wood of the shaft. "Who told you about me and the dagger?"

August swallowed. "A fairy. The blue fairy."

"Why did you want it?" Mr Gold pressed. "If you know who I am, then you _know_ who I am. The chances of you surviving this little encounter are pretty slim. So why take the risk?"

"Because…" August shifted, moving so he could pull the leg of his jeans up to expose his ankle. His wooden ankle. "Because I'll die anyway."

Mr Gold arched an eyebrow, amusement trickling through his anger as he realised who exactly he must be facing. "Well," he said dryly, "that does explain the lies."

"I was going to get the saviour to believe," August said, shoulders slumped in defeat, "but that woman… I don't think I'm going to make it long enough to see that happen."

"No," Mr Gold replied simply, "I don't think you are."

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* * *

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There was no blood to wipe from his cane, but he took the time to clean it and his shoes before getting into his car anyway. He wanted no evidence that he'd been anywhere near the woods tonight, which meant no tracking dirt and leaves in through the car or the house. He had the dagger with him now, having detoured to dig it up before here turned to his car. It would have to survive a day or two in his house before he could find somewhere safe to put it.

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* * *

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He spent the rest of the evening poring over maps of Storybrooke, considering various hiding places for the dagger. He thought he might just have something figured out when Lacey stumbled through the door, unsteady on her feet and smelling heavily of alcohol, a wilted bunch of flowers clutched in one hand. Mr Gold stood, sweeping the maps off his desk and into a drawer.

"I'm home," Lacey called, kicking off her heels in the hallway. The shoes landed with a solid clunk, one of them sliding half way down the hallway before coming to a stop by the wall. She caught him just outside his office and flung her arms around his neck, her bouquet accidentally smashing into the side of his head. "I missed you."

Mr Gold sighed. He wrapped his arms around her waist, ignoring the lilies in his ear. "I take it you all had a miserable time."

"It was _awful_," Lacey said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "David started crying, and then Mary-Margaret started crying, and then _I_ started crying and I don't even know why because I didn't even like Kathryn Nolan. And," she paused dramatically, "the pizza wasn't even very good." A beat. "I brought you flowers."

"I can see that," Mr Gold said softly, a stem tickling his ear. He steered his wife towards the living room and sat her down on the couch. He took the flowers from her and set them aside on the coffee table.

"Emma got drunk and tried to feed us all hot chocolate," Lacey informed him, as if it were a solemn truth that she desperately needed to tell him. "I think the neighbours tried to call in a noise complaint, but since she's the sheriff I don't think anyone's going to get in trouble."

"The perks of being the sheriff," Mr Gold commented. He reached up and gently undid the clips holding Lacey's hair up. Messy curls tumbled down from their updo to fall about her shoulders.

Lacey smiled at him. She scooted over to lean against his side, tucking herself under his arm. "You like them. Secretly."

"I admire Sheriff Swan's hard-headedness."

"That means yes," Lacey said gleefully. "We should invite them over for dinner."

"You should get to bed," Mr Gold told his wife, deciding it was best to ignore what she'd just said. (Though a part of him was picturing a dinner party in the Enchanted Forest and how awkward - but hilarious - that could have been.)

"Come with me?"

The sultry pout was not dulled by alcohol, but past experience told him that she'd be asleep before he even slid under the covers. Still, Mr Gold smiled. "Of course."

He helped Lacey up the stairs, where she gracefully accepted his help in undoing the zip on her dress (which she couldn't reach herself in her current state of balance) and collapsed into the bed in her underwear. By the time Mr Gold had changed out of his suit and turned the lights off Lacey was snoring lightly.

The next morning he left her to sleep late, making sure there was a fresh pot of coffee ready for when she finally woke up, and aspirin set out on the bedside table next to a glass of water. He retrieved a plain black briefcase from his home office, dagger hidden inside, and headed for the shop. He took a very small detour on the way, stopping to hide the dagger in what he figured was the perfect spot. Innocuous, practically in plain sight, and yet hidden from all angles of view. That done, he opened up the pawn shop and promptly disappeared into the back room.

For a few short weeks routine resumed. Mr Gold divided his time between business and pleasure. He put the Nolan house on the market on David's behalf, even thought over the potential benefits of buying it himself. David moved into Mary-Margaret's apartment building. Lacey helped him move, alongside Mary-Margaret and Emma… though her definition of 'helping' seemed to be providing a car and picking up lunch from Granny's while everyone else actually did the moving. Emma continued to make things difficult for Regina, specifically with Henry who kept escaping his mother's watchful eye to visit her.

And then came the day that Regina marched into his shop, wearing royalty in her bearing and looking more like the evil queen he remembered than the morally ambiguous mayor she played in this world.

Mr Gold greeted her with a slightly mocking bow. "Your Majesty," he said sweetly, "to what to I owe the pleasure."

"My tree is dying," Regina announced shortly. "Why is that?"

"Perhaps it's your fertilizer?" Mr Gold suggested lightly.

Regina's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You think this is funny? This is not a game. I'll tell you why I think my tree is dying. I think it's a sign of the curse weakening because of Emma. But do you care? No. You're content to just sit back and do… whatever it is you do, while all my hard work burns."

"Are you sure that's all?" Mr Gold smiled at her. "Come on, Regina. Might as well get everything off your chest."

"What are you talking about?"

"Henry. Miss Swan has been spending an awful lot of time with your son."

Anger swelled in Regina as if it were a physical thing, almost like an aura that he could see around her. "She'll have him over my dead body," Regina snapped.

"The curse," Mr Gold said patiently, "was meant to take away Snow White and Prince Charming's happiness. Perhaps you giving up Henry is just the price you need to pay to keep it unbroken."

Regina's lips tightened into a thin line. It was plain to see that the idea of giving up Henry wasn't one she would ever even consider. "I think I'd rather just get rid of her," she said.

Mr Gold smiled indulgently. "Well then. You're going to have to be quite creative. We both know the repercussions of killing Miss Swan would be… interesting."

"The curse would break, I know. Because you designed it that way. Undo it."

'Undo it', she demanded. As if it were that easy. "You know… Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. Magic, well, it's in short supply around here and dwindling by the minute. It can't be undone."

Regina stared at him a moment. "You _want_ the curse broken," she said, studying his features with intensity. "Why?"

"Not something I care to discuss."

"Fine," Regina said flatly. "If you won't help me, I'll just have to find a way to do it myself."

"Good luck with that," Mr Gold said mildly. "Though… If the curse did break," he smiled at her as sweetly and as falsely as he knew how, "I might be careful if I were you. Because once people wake up and remember who you are and what you've done… Well, let's just say it won't be pleasant."

"I'm not the only one with things to hide, Gold. You just remember that."

He watched as Regina swept out of the shop, the bell jangling angrily in her wake. He was suddenly glad he'd taken the time to hide his dagger again, somewhere safer this time. Whatever Regina did he had a feeling it would tip the scale one way or the other. She was not known for her subtlety, their queen. Whatever the case, he had to be ready.

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* * *

.

It took two days for Regina to return to the shop, this time to gloat. Though from his perspective it seemed a little early for that. Sometimes he wondered if she didn't secretly still feel the need for his approval, still searching for praise from her teacher.

"A sleeping curse," he surmised, impressed despite himself. A sleeping curse _would_ get rid of Emma without breaking the curse. It would put her into a coma, and eventually she would fade away. Eventually, but not now, and not soon. Mr Gold hid the spark of anger in him behind a placid smile. "Very clever."

"See? Everything will go back to normal." Regina smirked. "And I'll win."

She flounced out of the store, a bounce in her step. Mr Gold followed behind her to the window, where he could see Emma strolling down the opposite side of the street, completely unaware. He couldn't interfere in this one, not without sounding like an absolute lunatic. He tried to recall the visions and hints of the future that he'd seen when creating the curse. Emma had her destiny. No matter what happened, she would break the curse and that was all he knew with any certainty. In her twenty-eighth year, she would come to Storybrooke and break the curse. How was a mystery. For all he knew she was meant to be put under the sleeping curse and that would be what made her believe enough to break the curse.

All he could do was sit back, wait, watch, and be prepared.

.

* * *

.

It wasn't long before he heard about Henry's sudden, unexplainable coma.

Henry was the match that lit the flame. Either it would splutter and die as Emma retreated further into denial, or he would soon have a desperate saviour knocking at his door asking for a solution. Regina didn't have a cure or she would have used it the second she heard about her boy. It was only a matter of time.

Mr Gold moved a chest from the back room to the shop counter. He didn't have to wait long. Two hours after hearing about Henry's mysterious illness the door to his shop opened, admitting two women. One dark, one light, both worried about their son. "Miss Swan," Mr Gold greeted them with a nod, "and Mayor Mills. You do make an odd pair. But then, circumstances being what they are…"

"We need your help," Emma said, and something in her eyes told him that yes, finally, she believed. Henry had done his part, somehow, and Emma believed. His favourite saying in this world came to mind. Opportunity breeds opportunity. Emma believed, and that was the only thing she needed to break the curse. She didn't know this, of course. She'd need to learn it.

Mr Gold smiled. "Indeed you do. I take it you're here for a cure. I told you," he said, looking at Regina, "magic comes with a price."

"Henry shouldn't have to pay it," Regina protested.

"No, you should. But alas, we are where we are."

"Can you help us?" Emma pressed.

"Of course… After a fashion. What you need, Miss Swan, is True Love. Luckily for you, I happen to have bottled some."

Regina goggled at him, momentarily shocked out of her anger and grief. "You did?"

"Oh yes." Mr Gold smiled, showing his teeth. It was a predatory grin, reminiscent of his former self. "It took a long time, and many tries, but I made the most powerful potion in all the realms. From strands of your parent's hair, Miss Swan. It's a potion so powerful that when I created the dark curse I placed a single drop on the parchment. Just one. A little safety valve."

Emma's eyes grew wide in understanding. "That's why I'm the saviour. That's why I can break the curse."

"Now you're getting it." Mr Gold nodded.

Emma shook her head. "I don't care about the curse. All I care about is saving Henry."

"In that case, it's your lucky day. The potion isn't gone. I saved some." Mr Gold paused a beat. "For a rainy day."

"Well it's raining now," Emma commented dryly. "Where is it?"

"Where isn't the problem," Mr Gold hedged, purposefully vague. "Getting it is what should worry you."

"Enough riddles," Regina snapped. "What do we have to do?"

"You," Mr Gold pointed at Regina, "do nothing." He pointed at Emma. "It has to be Miss Swan."

"It should be me," Regina protested, "he's my son."

"Oh, but it has to be her. She's the product of the magic, she must be the one to find it. You could try," he told Regina, a wicked smirk threatening to emerge on his face, "but you would fail."

Emma squared her shoulders, mind clearly made up. "I can do it."

"You can't trust him," Regina told her.

Emma shrugged. "What choice do we have?"

"That's right, dearie. What choice do you have?" It was so easy to slip back into old ways of talking, so easy to let go of twenty-eight years of fuzzy memories and smile one of Rumpelstiltskin's smiles.

"Where is the magic?" Emma asked him, ignoring the question.

"There should be a basement in the town library," Mr Gold said, and Regina's eyes widened briefly. "You'll find it in there. And I'm afraid, Miss Swan, you're going to need this." He went to the chest that lay innocently on the counter and flung it open.

Emma stepped forward, reaching out to take the objects from inside the chest. The sword gleamed as if it had been recently polished, the scabbard and belt clean and oiled to keep the leather supple. "What is this?"

"Your father's sword," Rumpelstiltskin replied simply. "It's sharp enough to do the trick. Oh, and remember, dearie. You'll have to do it alone."

.

* * *

.

He gave them a ten minute head start, then closed the shop and headed to a spot near the library where he could wait for them to arrive without being seen. It took longer than he expected – perhaps they had gone to see Henry, just in case they failed – but eventually Emma and Regina met outside the library doors. Regina used her skeleton keys to unlock the doors and then both women slipped inside.

Mr Gold waited another ten minutes, then got out of his car and stalked quietly towards the library, pocket weighed down with duct tape. The doors were closed but unlocked, Regina had forgotten that in her haste. Or perhaps, more likely, she had not expected to be followed. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him, and crept through the stacks towards the hidden elevator. Regina stood there by the hand crank, peering nervously down the shaft from a safe distance. She was too preoccupied to notice him creeping up behind her, enough that it only took one careful blow to the back of her head to knock her cold.

She was out for only a few seconds – no brain damage, fair chance of a concussion – but that was enough time for him to wrap her wrists together with a length of duct-tape. Regina began to stir just as he tore off a strip to place over her mouth. He silenced her with it before she could start to yell, her outraged brown eyes staring at him in accusation.

"Now, now, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin – or was it Gold? He was both. So perhaps it only meant he had gained a first name again – said coolly, attempting to grab hold of her kicking legs, "you should have listened to your instincts."

He dodged a kick and grabbed hold of her ankle, getting hold of the other one when she tried to pull from his grip. He wrapped the duct tape around them quickly and efficiently, not even bothering to cut the length from the roll. The he dragged her away from the elevator a short distance and propped her against the wall. She tried to scream, but the distant sound of battle had begun in the dark caves below, drowning out any noise she might try to make.

Mr Gold stood there, hands on his cane, watching her wear herself out with her struggles. Eventually she figured out that she wasn't going anywhere until Emma came back up and settled into glaring at him.

It seemed like a long time, though in reality it couldn't have been more than fifteen or so minutes, when there was noise from the elevator shaft. "I got it!" Emma's voice echoed distantly up from the basement. "Bring me up!"

Mr Gold went to the crank. It was easy to operate, though it required constant movement or the elevator would come to a stop. He waited until he judged her to be almost at the top – just far enough that she couldn't easily climb out by herself – and stopped the crank. The elevator came to a shuddering stop with a whine of gears and grinding metal.

"What the hell was that?" Emma called. "Regina?"

Mr Gold leaned over the edge of the shaft. "Miss Swan?" he said, and caught sight of a flash of gold in her hands. "You got it?"

"Mr Gold? What are you doing here?"

"I came to check on you," he explained (somewhere to his left Regina rolled her eyes). "I'm glad I did. Regina abandoned you and sabotaged the lift, I can't get it any further."

"What?" Emma tucked the egg under one arm, face set with grim determination. "I'm coming up."

"There's no time for that," Mr Gold protested. "You can't possibly scale the wall and carry that."

"I can try." Emma set the egg on top of the elevator. She hauled herself up out of the box and on top of the cage, then looked about for the best way to climb out.

"You can't," Mr Gold insisted. "Not in time. Just toss it up. Your boy's going to be fine, I promise. We're running out of time. Toss it up."

Emma hesitated, looking as if she wanted to protest. "OK," she said, "you hold onto it. I'll be right behind you."

Emma had a good arm. One good throw was all it took. Mr Gold caught the egg, feeling the familiar weight in his hands. It was likely he wouldn't be forgiven for this, but it didn't matter. She still owed him a favour. Mr Gold left the library, egg tucked under one arm. The key to open it was in his shop, as was the map to the remnants of Lake Nostos. Though that he didn't need, he'd had it memorised for weeks.

He kept the sign on the front door flipped to 'closed' and went straight to the back room. The egg looked strange against the sensible wood of his desk, otherworldly. The key to unlock it was in his desk drawer, a tiny gold thing that looked as if it belonged to a music box or diary. One twist and the egg sprang open, revealing the potion inside. Untouched, glowing with the same eerie inner light that he recalled.

The bell over the front door jingled, announcing a visitor to the shop. Mr Gold shoved the potion bottle hastily into a pocket, careful not to knock the stopper out by mistake (a suit infused with True Love would no doubt be truly extraordinary, but also extraordinarily useless).

"Are you in here?" Lacey's voice called out from the shop front.

Mr Gold double-checked the potion in his pocket, then walked out to the front. He smiled at his wife. "Lacey. I would love to stop and chat, but I must be going."

"Going?" Lacey frowned. "Going where?"

"To a place in the woods. There's not much time."

"Not much time for what?" Lacey looked at him suspiciously. "Is this one of those times where you're going to tell me that real life isn't like a novel, and then go and do something from out of a novel?"

"Exactly like those times," Mr Gold told her. He took her elbow gently and led her out of the shop, pausing briefly to lock up. If the curse was breaking soon, and he suspected it would be somehow, he didn't want his shop to just be wide open. "Except this time, if you want to, you can come along."

Lacey looked down at her shoes, then back up at him. She was wearing very impractical, strappy shoes that showed off a recent pedicure. After a moment she shrugged. "I guess I can go barefoot."

"That's the spirit." Mr Gold grinned at her.

They took his car part of the way, parking at the edge of the woods. Lacey took off her shoes on the way, leaving them on the back seat of the car. Mr Gold led the way into the trees. He hadn't been out this way before, but knew from the maps just how far it would be. They had been walking just a short while when Lacey piped up; "So you're not going to tell me what this mysterious errand is?"

"Not yet. Soon."

"Is it very far?"

"It shouldn't be."

"Will I find out when we get there?"

"Oh, I should think so." Mr Gold grinned.

They were almost there when Lacey stopped suddenly, an odd look on her face. Mr Gold paused, turning a little to face her. She stared at his face as if just seeing him for the first time. "You look different," she said, an odd, familiar note in her voice, "without your magic."

Mr Gold's heart skipped a beat. "Belle?" he asked cautiously.

"This is your rainy day," Belle said, memories weighing her gaze with a seriousness that Lacey rarely had a use for. "This is what you were planning for all that time. A curse to bring us here, and a failsafe to make sure it wouldn't last forever." She raised a hand to touch the choker that he'd given her. Her eyes widened suddenly. "Rumpelstiltskin, I can kiss you!"

"You have kissed me, love," he pointed out with a smirk. "Many times."

Belle launched herself at him anyway, stumbling into his arms and aiming a kiss at his lips. They came together clumsily, franticly, the sometimes-uncertainty of their lukewarm marriage forgotten. She didn't release him until she was gasping for breath, and even then she stared up at him in awe. She touched his cheek, then ran her fingers through his hair – smoother than it had once been. "I could never imagine you without your magic," she said thoughtfully, "I always thought it would be like you were missing a part of yourself… Do you have a plan to bring it back?"

Mr Gold – Rumpelstiltskin – smiled at her. "Clever Belle," he said, and pulled away just enough that he could withdraw the potion from his jacket.

"True love?"

"The remnants of Lake Nostos is close by. The lake was said to have the power to bring back that which was lost, in truth it was even more powerful than that."

She nodded, determination filling her pretty blue eyes. "Lake Nostos it is. Lead the way."

Mr Gold grinned. The well wasn't very far. Just a few short metres and the trees cleared, revealing the crumbling old well. They stopped side by side by the moss-covered stone, looking down into the dark circle of the well. Mr Gold unstoppered the potion bottle. He dropped the bottle into the well, then stepped back with Belle beside him. She held onto his arm. "Things are going to get interesting," she observed as the smoke began to rise from the well.

"That they are, my dear." He could feel the faint glimmer of magic already, different from how it had been in the enchanted forest, but no less powerful. In this land, at least, it wouldn't change his form. A pity. He had missed being able to walk without his limp.

Belle paused a moment, then chuckled to herself. "I can't believe I'm friends with Snow White. I wonder what she'll say when she realises who I am."

"As long as they don't try to lock us up in the mines I'll consider it a victory."

Belle leaned against his side, smiling contentedly despite the swirling smoke, her bare feet, and the prospect of a town full of people who thought they were the scum of the earth. "Will you tell me why?" she asked. "You obviously designed this curse, and you designed it not to take us back when it broke. Will you tell me what you were working on? What your secret was?"

Mr Gold was silent for a few seconds, thinking it over. Secrecy was so ingrained that it was difficult to imagine telling anyone – even his Belle – the entire truth. But she deserved to know. She had never questioned him, never asked him for more than he could give, never tried to change him. She had been the stars in his darkness, lighting the night. His Belle, his true love. She at least deserved to know. "I needed to get to this world," he told her, "for my son. He's here, somewhere, and I intend to find him. A curse was the only way to do it, the only way to move between the worlds."

"Regina was the only way to cast the curse?" The smoke that swirled around them began to dissipate, breaking up into the air, soaking into the atmosphere around them. "They'll all think it was her. They'll have no idea it was you."

"That was the plan." The smoke had disappeared completely. Mr Gold looked down at his wife. "We should get back to town."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: Sorry for the one-day delay in posting. This week has been particularly hectic. This chapter represents the half-way mark in the story, so things should start to get fair interesting.

.

* * *

.

Storybrooke was in chaos. Mr Gold drove slowly through the streets, careful to avoid wandering pedestrians and the people to rushed to and fro, looking for their loved ones or for someone to blame. He parked the car at the back of their house away from the road, just in case. They closed the curtains, lit a couple of lamps, and retreated into the kitchen. Belle went to pour herself a glass of wine, then stopped.

She stared at the bottle, her grip going tight. "I'm an alcoholic," she said flatly. Then annoyed; "Regina made me an alcoholic." Belle put the bottle down in disgust and turned away.

"An unfortunate loophole," Mr Gold explained, getting out the things needed to make tea. It was never as good here as it had been in the Enchanted Forest, but it would do. "I made a deal with Regina that we would be together, content and well provided for. I should have been more careful with my wording. Tea?"

Belle sat down at the table, slumping against the back of their hard wooden chairs. "Tea would be lovely."

The kettle had just boiled when there was a sudden pounding at the front door. Husband and wife exchanged glances. Both remained silent.

The hammering at the door continued. "Gold!" Emma's voice shouted through the door. "Gold, I know you're in there!" Muffled voices sounded outside the front door. Then hinges creaked as the door opened.

Mr Gold sighed. He thought he'd remember to lock that. Evidently not. Bell shook her head, an amused smile on her lips. Footsteps stomped through the house, several pairs of them at that. Mr Gold just poured water from the kettle into two teacups. It didn't take long at all for Emma to find them. She stopped just inside the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips, glaring at them. Her parents were just behind her.

"Ah, Miss Swan," Mr Gold greeted her calmly, as if the entire town hadn't just remembered that they were fairytale characters and purple smoke hadn't just returned magic to those who knew how to use it. "Care for a cup of tea?"

"What did you do?" Emma demanded.

"I'm afraid you'd going to have to be more specific than that," Mr Gold pointed out. He handed Belle her tea.

David Nolan glared at him from his daughter's side. "You know damn well what we're talking about."

"You double crossed Emma," Mary-Margaret added, "you… you took your potion from her."

"And did who knows what to this town," David added.

"And," Emma continued, her voice cold, "worst of all, you risked Henry's life."

Belle, who had not heard of this particular detail, arched an eyebrow at him over her teacup. "Really?" she asked dryly. "You risked Henry's life?"

"A calculated risk," Mr Gold assured his wife before turning his attention to the happy little family in his kitchen. "Well, quite a litany of grievances, isn't it?"

Emma moved forward half a step, her fists clenched. "Maybe I don't need answers. Maybe I just need to punch you in the face."

"Really, dearie?" Mr Gold sipped his tea, then put the cup down on the table. "Allow me to answer your questions with some of my own, alright? Did your dear boy Henry survive?"

"Yeah," Emma admitted grudgingly, "no thanks to you."

"Is the curse broken?" Mr Gold continued. "And let's see. How long have you been searching for your parents, Miss Swan? Looks like you're reunited. Seems like, rather than a punch in the face, I deserve a thank you."

"Twist my words all you want. What was that purple haze that you brought?"

Feeling perverse, Mr Gold smiled. "Oh, you know… magic."

"Why?" Mary-Margaret asked.

Belle cleared her throat politely. She stood, facing the people she had considered her friends just a very short time ago. "I think perhaps this is being blown out of proportion," she said smoothly, in that tone that Mr Gold recognised from when she used to play diplomat during his deals. "Everything turned out ok. And, contrary to what you might believe, Rumpel would never have done what he did if he hadn't believed you would find a way to save Henry anyway."

The small family turned their eyes towards her almost simultaneously. Emma was frowning at her, obviously not sure who she was meant to be or what role she'd played in Henry's fairytales. Snow White and Prince Charming, however, recognition was dawning in their faces.

"_You_," Mary-Margaret said, a hint of betrayal in her voice.

"Why should we listen to you?" David asked her. "The Blue Fairy – mother superior – she knew you weren't to be trusted."

"The Blue Fairy does not know everything," Rumpelstiltskin said mildly.

"Regardless of what happened," Belle added, "Henry is alive and the curse is broken. We are not your enemies. In fact… Rumpel has been working to break the curse ever since he woke up. Haven't you?"

All eyes turned to Mr Gold. "I may have had a hand in some things, yes," he admitted.

"But why would you return magic if it would mean Regina could use it too?" Mary-Margaret asked, clearly trying to understand.

"Magic is different here," Mr Gold said, feeling for its familiar static buzz, if only to reassure himself it was still there. "I would be surprised if Regina could use it, this soon after its return."

"But you can," Emma said flatly.

"Yes. I can." If he couldn't, he would have felt nothing. Unlike the fairies, unlike Regina, Mr Gold was not powerless.

"Ok," Emma said, nonplussed, "I accept that we've got bigger things to worry about right now, but don't think we're going to forget about what you did."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

The trio gave him one final glare – their expressions so perfectly matched that it looked as if they'd coordinated and rehearsed it – then filed out of the kitchen. He could hear them in the hall, then the sound of the door slamming shut, and breathed a small sigh of relief. Belle, on the other hand, sat back down at the kitchen table in a slump.

.

* * *

.

Chaos continued in Storybrooke's streets. In the span of a day, the sheriff and her family had managed to create a makeshift crisis centre at the town square. Originally it had been at the police station, but demand had outstripped the station's ability to hold as many people as they needed it to and the centre had up and moved to a larger, more open area. People milled about everywhere, searching for lost family members and friends, panicking over the disparity between personalities, and demanding answers that neither Snow White or Prince Charming could give.

Belle had dressed down for the occasion. She had searched through her entire wardrobe looking for something to wear that was neither short, sparkly, or unreasonably revealing. In the end the only things she could come up with were her funeral clothes (bad taste, she thought), and a knee-length blue halter-neck dress. She chose the dress, paired it with a black cardigan and kitten heels, and pulled her hair back without putting it up – the sort of style she used to wear back in the Enchanted Forest. The effect the whole outfit gave was one of respectability. It looked like something Mary-Margaret would wear. The only thing ruining it was the gold lacework choker around her neck. But she couldn't take that off. The stone had begun changing colour just that morning, taking on a blue cast over the gray. Her husband had warned her that it would take time for its power to return, that if she went out now the choker couldn't protect her, but Belle had weighed the options and felt it was worth the risk.

"Don't worry about me," she had told him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I doubt they're organised enough to form an angry mob just yet."

In truth, now that she was out here, Storybrooke looked an awful lot like they were just a few short steps away from an angry mob.

Belle wound her way through the crowds at the crisis centre, searching out the family at its centre. Snow White was there in the centre of it all, attempting to keep order amidst the chaos. On either side of her were her daughter and Prince Charming, both of them working equally as hard. Ruby was there too, directing townsfolk in one direction or another. And Henry, sitting behind them with his book – an abridged history of Storybrooke and its citizens in all of its illustrated glory.

She knew Snow White had seen her when the other woman's face closed off, becoming difficult to read. "Can I talk to you?" Belle asked. "Please?"

"This really isn't a good time," Snow White pointed out. "Can it wait?"

"No. It needs to come out now, while you still remember that for the past few months we've been friends." Belle had thought about it, and decided that Mary-Margaret was the one she needed to convince. Emma didn't know her, had never met her as her other self, and if Snow White vouched for her then the Prince would accept her word.

Mary-Margaret hesitated. Then she sighed. "Alright," she said, stepping away from the centre of the chaos. Belle followed until they stood near Henry, who watched them both curiously. "What do you want, Lacey?"

"Belle," she corrected. "I'm more Belle than I am Lacey. At least," she admitted, thinking about the bottles of wine she and Rumpelstiltskin had poured down the sink that morning, "I want to be. And I want us to still be able to be friends."

"Belle then." Mary-Margaret crossed her arms. "Look, how can we trust you? I remember who you used to be, what you used to be. You were there on that pier, you were there at Ella's ball. You kidnapped Thomas."

"Who is still alive and well," Belle pointed out, wondering if she should even bother explaining that _she_ hadn't been the one to do that. It had just been the price of capturing Rumpelstiltskin. "And if you ask him he'll tell you that despite a short stay in the Dark Castle's dungeons he was not treated unfairly. He was probably treated better than my husband was."

"Wait," Henry interrupted, obviously having been listening in, "you kidnapped Prince Thomas?"

"Rumpelstiltskin's magic took Thomas," Belle explained with a sigh, knowing it was unlikely she'd be believed, "I had nothing to do with it. I didn't even know about it until I found him at the castle."

"You're the Lady of the Dark Castle!" Henry exclaimed, looking at Belle with a mixture of awe and surprise. "But… she was evil."

Belle bit her bottom lip. She glanced at Mary-Margaret, then looked down at Henry. "Henry, your book was written about good people, wasn't it? About Snow White, and Cinderella, and Red Riding Hood?"

Henry nodded, looking sceptical but curious.

"It didn't have any stories about bad people in it?" Belle pressed.

"Well… no. It just had the bad people in the other stories."

"Sometimes," Belle explained, eyes flicking back to Mary-Margaret briefly, "good people are so busy being good they don't stop and think about why bad people do the things they do. They don't wonder if whether they might be judging them too harshly, or if there's another side to the story. I'm not saying that we were good," she clarified with a wry smile, "in fact, Rumpelstiltskin was often quite bad, but unlike the Evil Queen he didn't do bad things just to hurt people. Rumpelstiltskin makes deals. He makes them with people who call for him knowing that there will be a price. Fairies do the same thing, they're just much nicer about it."

"Rumpelstiltskin did bad things without making deals," Mary-Margaret argued softly.

"Have you never done a bad thing in your life?" Belle asked. "All I'm asking for is a chance. You gave me a chance when I was Lacey Gold, why is it any different now?"

Mary-Margaret shook her head. There was a spark of sympathy in her eyes, but she still didn't seem convinced. "You have magic now."

Belle shook her head. "I never had magic. Those times you saw me disappear was because of this," she reached up to touch the still-greyish stone in her choker, "a protection spell on the choker, that's all. And it doesn't even work now. Not yet."

"One chance," Mary-Margaret said firmly. "I'm not sure I believe you, but… I don't want to lose my friend."

.

* * *

.

The confusion slowly died down over a short time as the people of Storybrooke came to grips with their dual sets of memories. Mr Gold felt he was delaying for no good reason, but he found himself putting off packing, finding excuses and things left to do. It was partially fear, fear of what might happen when he finally found his son, fear of rejection. And it was also a reluctance to leave Belle behind. He had never intended for her to come along on this particular venture, but now that the time had come he found himself unable to fathom the idea of going without her. So he hesitated, letting the second day free of the curse pass by without any attempts at leaving.

Only to discover that it was just as well that he'd done so.

When Belle returned from her trip to the crisis centre it was with news that the dwarf, Sneezy, had crossed the town line and lost all of his memories from the Enchanted Forest. Once again he believed he was Mr Clark, and only Mr Clark. They were trapped within Storybrooke still, unless they wanted to lose their memories and possibly themselves in the process.

"Well, that fixes that then," Mr Gold said dryly, scrapping half-formed travel plans in favour of figuring out how to cross the town line. It might take some time to formulate a proper solution.

"A lot of people are wondering why we didn't return to the Enchanted Forest," Belle informed him, "some of them are wondering if it even still exists."

"Oh, it exists. And I'm sure there are ways to get back there."

"But we're not going to help," Belle surmised, hopping up to sit on the table, bare feet swinging idly back and forth. "We're going to find a way to cross the town line, so you can find your son."

"We?" Mr Gold replied, pleased that she'd said it first and he didn't have to.

"Do you think I'd let you go alone?" She smirked, teasing; "I want to meet my stepson."

Something about that struck him as hilarious and yet terrifying at the same time. It was very likely that Baelfire was grown up by now. Time often moved differently in different worlds, but it still moved. Three hundred years in the Enchanted Forest, three hundred years of history, of searching, of never abandoning hope… Only to introduce his grown-up son to a new mother. Who might be the same age as he was. It was almost enough to drive him to hysterical giggles. Almost. Mr Gold was far more composed than Rumpelstiltskin ever was, and even with his memories returned he seemed to have retained Gold's manner. "It may take some time," he said instead, retaining his composure, "it's going to be a difficult spell."

.

* * *

.

In the middle of the night Rumpelstiltskin woke up to the sound of someone stumbling clumsily through the bedroom. He reached over and flicked on the lamp, revealing his wife, her nightgown damp with sweat, her skin pale and waxy. "Belle? What's wrong, love?"

"Withdrawals," Belle explained weakly. She sat down on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands. "I feel awful."

It had been almost thirty hours since Belle had stopped drinking. Frankly, Mr Gold was surprised it had taken this long for her body to rebel. He sat up properly and scooted across the bed to place a hand on the back of his wife's neck. A small touch of his magic and she relaxed a little, a soft sigh of relief escaping her lips. "That will help for now, love," Mr Gold told her softly, rubbing her neck. "I'll make a potion for you to take. Something that won't take too much of a price for its work."

.

* * *

.

In the morning, as promised, Mr Gold created a quick-fix potion for Belle to take – small sips as required – to help keep the less pleasant symptoms of alcohol withdrawal at bay while her body readjusted. Belle slipped the little bottle into her purse after she'd taken a small sip of the thick green liquid inside. She pulled a face at the taste, then kissed him on the mouth for revenge so he'd have to bear the aftertaste of the bitter potion on her lips. When he left the house she was wading through her closet again, obviously trying to come to grips with two opposing tastes in fashion. He liked her both ways, but he wouldn't tell her that. She, like everyone else, needed to figure things out for herself just now. Mr Gold, who'd had something of a head start, had already figured out who he was. A mix of something in between the pawnbroker and the imp, Mr Rumpelstiltskin Gold.

The chaos of the day before had died down somewhat by the time he got to the shop. The crisis centre had moved back to the police station now that most people had found their missing loved ones and, despite that small hiccup, Storybrooke was rapidly getting back to normal as people figured out that it was best to just keep going on with their lives. Businesses reopened, school seemed due to start again, and while some things were different much was still the same.

It was easy to convert the back room of the shop into a makeshift workroom, especially now that odd paraphernalia wouldn't have to be explained away should someone happen to stumble in unannounced. The return of magic made it easier, though there were ingredients that didn't exist in this world that would have made it even more so. He would just have to make do.

He had just finished setting up his new work room when the shop's bell announced a visitor. (He automatically thought 'visitor', as he rarely seemed to get 'customers' in the traditional sense.)

Regina waited for him by the counter, anxious and agitated, looking over her shoulder at the door as if worried she might have been followed.

"Ah, Your Majesty," Mr Gold gave the title a mocking twist. "What can I do for you today?"

"I need the book," she told him flatly.

"You're going to have to be more specific than that."

"You know which book," Regina snapped. "The _book_," she continued when she got no reaction, "my mother's spell book!"

"Ah. I see. Having a little difficulty with your magic, dearie? And what makes you think I'd hand it over to you?"

"I need it. They've…" Regina stopped, swallowed, and continued in a much softer tone. "They've taken my son. They've taken Henry from me."

"The evil queen not a fit mother for a ten year old?" Mr Gold asked lightly. To be honest he'd expected something of the sort. It had been coming for a long time, even before Emma had started to believe. Now that Regina's true self had been revealed and her past deeds remembered, of course Emma and her noble parents wouldn't allow the boy to remain with her. "Seems to me that you'd be better off with a lawyer, not a spell book."

Regina scoffed bitterly. "Do you really think the law applies anymore? _Emma_ is the sheriff, and her parents have taken over running this town. It would take a miracle for a social worker to even _look_ at the case."

"I'm afraid that's not my problem."

"You know what might be?" Regina retorted, voice dripping acid sweetness. "Having everyone know the Enchanted Forest still exists. Knowing that you and I are keeping that little secret. You're up to something. And it doesn't involve going back home."

"I take it the book is the price for your silence?" Mr Gold questioned dryly. He didn't wait for a reply. The answer was obvious. Instead he waved a hand through the air, pulling the book from a wisp of purple smoke. He went to hand it to Regina, but stopped at the last second. "You'd best be careful, dearie. These are straight up spells. Rough on the system."

Regina snatched the book from his hand. "I don't care if they turn me green," she snapped, "I'm getting my son back."

.

* * *

.

The stone changed from grey to green. That was the first thing Belle noticed when she put the choker on in front of the mirror that morning. The cabochon had shimmered slightly, then changed from grey to a light green. Nowhere near the vibrant colour it used to be, but a much more distinctive change than even the day before. Maybe now, if she was lucky, anyone who tried to do her harm would get a static shock. And if she was _really_ lucky it would be one of those big ones you get on winter mornings.

She had pulled her hair back, and up into a knot, finishing it off with a green ribbon. She was wearing a black shimmery thing that could just barely be considered a dress, over a strapless green tube top that she was wearing as a skirt. The effect was a perfect melding of Belle and Lacey. If it had only been floor-length instead of a few inches above her knees it would have looked like the clothes she'd worn in the Enchanted Forest.

"I miss my gowns," she'd complained to her husband over breakfast, "it was easy to look dramatic in a gown."

"Are we trying to look dramatic now?" Mr Gold had asked her, one eyebrow raised.

"Don't I have a reputation to keep, now that everyone remembers that I'm supposed to be 'the Enchantress'?"

"I thought reputations were my business, love. You're meant to be the loveable one," he had pointed out, calmly stirring his tea, "the diplomatic one, the one who makes them forget they were about to try and run me through. How is dramatic going to help with that?"

"I can dazzle them with my sparkliness," Belle replied, lips twisting into a sly smile, "and distract them from the fine print. Anyway, they didn't love me before."

"They didn't know you before."

She knew which 'they' he meant. The Charmings. In the span of a few short days the power structure of the town had completely changed. Regina, while still mayor in name, was practically in hiding at her house. And Emma, along with her parents, now held the seat of power. The people of Storybrooke took their cues from those three now, Prince Charming, Snow White, and the Saviour. Mary-Margaret had promised her a chance. Belle did not plan on messing it up, not when the few people who actually seemed to have considered Lacey a friend were now the most powerful people in Storybrooke. It was an in she felt could definitely come in handy down the line… Besides which, she liked having friends.

She was on her way to meet said friends now, headed to Granny's for lunch with Emma and Mary-Margaret. She was almost there when she felt one of the buckles on her strappy sandals come undone. Belle stopped walking and bent down to fix the shoe. Shoe fixed, she straightened, and startled when she saw that someone was now standing in front of her.

"Belle." Moe French – Maurice of Avonlea – stood in front of her, looking sad and lost.

A little uneasy, remembering the last encounter she'd had with this man as Moe French, Belle hesitated a second before replying; "Father."

"When the curse broke, I thought… The deal doesn't still hold. It can't. We're not in the Enchanted Forest anymore. But you didn't come home…" The florist shook his head sadly. "I remembered hearing all those stories back in Avonlea about a lady living in the Dark Castle, a witch with a black heart. I worried so much about how she might be treating you, if Rumpelstiltskin's deal meant you'd be safe…"

It occurred to Belle suddenly that she had never once written to her father. She had sent no messages, never visited, never made any reassurances that she was ok. He probably didn't even know what had happened to Gaston. All he would have known would be that his daughter had made a deal to be the Dark One's caretaker, and then had seemed to vanish from the face of the earth. And yet… she couldn't find it in herself to feel sorry about that. Which just made her feel guilty for not feeling the way a good daughter (a good person) should. She should be sorry for making her father worry, she should feel terrible that she'd never even written to him. She should, but she didn't.

"I'm sorry," Belle said awkwardly, guilt making her look down, "I should have written to you, or sent a message, or something to let you know I was alright. I was just so busy, so much was going on…" It was a poor excuse and she knew it. She had barely thought of Avonlea at all, except to be glad she wasn't there anymore. She couldn't tell him that.

"I thought he was holding you captive," Moe said bleakly.

"Well… he's not." Belle wasn't sure what else to say.

"You're in love with him. You're in love with the Dark One."

Belle didn't reply, the answer was obvious enough anyway.

Moe sighed. "I thought about sending you over the town line to make you forget… but Lacey was in love with him too. I'm sorry, Belle, I… It's probably best if we keep things the way they are." He shook his head. "My daughter would never have fallen in love with evil."

Moe walked away, leaving Belle standing there in numb shock. She wasn't sure how to feel about that, whether she should be sad, relieved, guilty… What emotion were you supposed to feel when your father disowned you for the second time? She crossed the road to Granny's, feeling odd. Emma and Mary-Margaret were already there, sitting in a booth. They looked up when she arrived.

"What's up?" Emma asked as she sat down, "you look like crap, did something happen?"

Belle shrugged, setting her bag down on her lap where it wouldn't get in the way. "History just repeated itself is all. My father… Moe French happened." At their questioning looks she explained; "I never told him about, well, my relationship with Rumpelstiltskin."

Emma blew out a breath in a sigh. "Well, cat's out of the bag now. I guess he didn't take it well, huh?"

"It would have been an awkward conversation in either world," Mary-Margaret added.

"It wasn't pleasant. Anyway," Belle tried on a smile, "how are things with you guys? Is the town keeping you busy?"

"Ugh, you have no idea." Emma shook her head. "We've got everything from missing persons to custody disputes."

"Plus a whole lot of angry people who just want to go home." Mary-Margaret looked at Belle. "You don't know if Rumpelstiltskin could find a way to get back to the Enchanted Forest, do you? Or even just find out if it still exists?"

Belle bit her lip. "I don't know," she confessed, entirely honest about that part. "If there's a way back then I don't think he knows it. Regina might," she added. Both of the other woman pulled faces with varying degrees of disgust.

Mary-Margaret commented; "If she knows, she's not telling. We've hardly even seen her since Henry came to live with us."

"We'd better be careful about that," Emma stated dryly, "she might be up to something."

"She always was," Belle agreed, glad to steer the topic away from her husband and the inevitable question of whether or not he might provide the town with a way back to the Enchanted Forest. It certainly wasn't that she didn't want to go (though admittedly there was a lot of be said for modern conveniences), or that she didn't think he could do it. It was that they had more important things to deal with first. Like reuniting a family.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: So, as promised, things begin to Happen in this chapter. Please enjoy, and once again thanks to everyone who reviewed. You guys make my week.

.

* * *

.

Working on a way to cross the town line was awfully similar to some of his more delicate experiments in the Enchanted Forest. The back room of the shop was a poor substitute for his old tower workroom (and was not nearly as secluded), but the rest of the process was the same. Sequestered away, emerging only for meals, tolerating no visitors (with the sole exception of his wife), surrounded by trinkets, potion ingredients, books, and organised mess. Finally he stood before the fruits of his labour. A small glass bottle containing a clear liquid the exact consistency and appearance of water. Only when he picked up the bottle and gently swirled the contents did it show its true nature in the shimmers of light from within.

Mr Gold regarded the potion with mild suspicion. If he was correct – and he often was – then this was it. This was the way to cross the town border without being affected by the curse. Still, if he had miscalculated by even a little bit then crossing the town line would end in disaster. What he needed, he realised, was a guinea-pig. A test subject. Preferably someone he didn't mind trapping in their cursed state if it turned out that the potion didn't work.

For a few brief moments he considered Regina. Brash, unsubtle, prone to creating problems, and without a curse-personality to boot. Regina would be a clean slate. But, unfortunately, wiping Regina's mind clean might prove to be a bad move. For one thing, as an amnesiac the queen would have no knowledge of the curse she'd cast or the powers she was capable of harnessing. For another, Regina might yet prove to be useful. Or worse, needed. What he needed was a far less prominent figure. Someone who hadn't made a name for themselves in Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest both. Someone who wasn't well known.

Mr Gold tucked the potion away into his jacket. He left the shop and headed into the closest thing Storybrooke had to a 'bad area', to a run-down little bar never frequented by any of Storybrooke's leaders.

As he opened the doors all eyes turned to him before quickly looking away again. Even in here his reputation preceded him. These people knew who he was, and they would pretend they hadn't seen him in the hopes of avoiding trouble at his hands. Mr Gold scanned the meagre crowd, immediately picking his mark from the group. He had no idea how or why this particular person had come to be in Storybrooke, and frankly he did not care. He just walked up to the table where the man sat, put on his best predatory smile, and said; "You and me are going for a walk."

The man looked up at him, slightly panicked; "But –"

Mr Gold waved a hand, and a puff of purple smoke curled around the man. "That wasn't a request," he said as the smoke cleared to reveal one very terrified rat sitting where the man had been. Mr Gold reached out and picked up the rodent, the animal clearly too shocked to even try biting him. He walked out of the bar without another word, the other patrons studiously avoiding his gaze.

The town border was deserted. There wasn't even a single person to patrol the perimeter – everyone knew better than to chance a crossing, so everyone was happy to stay far away from the orange spray painted line that represented the border. Mr Gold set the rat down on the road in front of the line. A wave of his hand and the rat was a man again, disorientated and cowering. Mr Gold plucked the potion from his jacket.

"Now," he said, "if I'm not mistaken, I'd say I've never seen you without that hideous hat, have I?"

"H-hat?" the man replied, a hand automatically raising to touch the knitted monstrosity currently perched on his head.

"Yes, hat. Now, is it important to you in some way?"

"My grandmother knitted it… I liked my grandmother."

"Excellent." Mr Gold stepped forward and dripped a bit of the potion directly onto the hat. The whole thing glowed for a moment, then faded back into its normal self. "Do tell me if you feel any different," he said, and raised his cane to shove the other man over the town line.

The man fell with a cry of alarm, tripping over on his way down. He came to a stop on his backside a few feet away on the other side of the line, and cringed as if expecting to be hit by lightning. When nothing happened he straightened up a little, looking around in surprise. "I… I'm still me!"

"Oh good." Mr Gold stoppered the potion again and tucked it away. "Now… if I were you, I would use this good fortune and run away, far away, before I decide you would be better off without your memories anyway."

The man made as if to cross the town line again.

"Ah." Mr Gold stopped him with a held-up finger. "Away as in that direction." He pointed along the road away from the town.

The man hesitated, clearly not wanting to, but decided better of it after a glance at Mr Gold's pointing finger. He started off down the road at a trot.

"Mr Smee," Mr Gold called out when the man was fifty metres down the road.

The former pirate half-turned, just in time to watch his hat sail from his head and fly back to the town line of its own accord. Smee froze, suddenly immobilised within the grip of the magic that isolated the town. Mr Gold smirked to himself and disappeared.

The former pirate collapsed, and when he stood again it was with a blank, confused look on his face as he wondered how on earth he'd gotten there. Arthur Lambert blinked, scratched his head, and began to trudge back to Storybrooke. Obviously he'd had a bit much to drink the other night if he couldn't even remember leaving the bar.

.

* * *

.

Belle was in the kitchen with her laptop when Mr Gold arrived home, her fingers flying over the keys. The steady clacking of the keyboard died when he entered the room. She turned in her chair to face him, a question on her lips that froze before she could ask it. He was holding the potion bottle delicately between thumb and forefinger.

"We'll need talismans," he explained, unwrapping the rough-spun cloth scarf from around his shoulders to show her, "things of great importance to us, with personal meaning. We apply the potion, and as long as we wear the talismans we'll be able to cross the town line without forgetting anything."

Belle reached up to caress the stone on her choker with a finger. He'd had a feeling hers would be that. The symbol of her transformation from the polite and demure mask she'd worn all her life to the woman the world knew as the Enchantress. And, he suspected, a reminder of their love. His, of course, was something of Bae's. The only thing he had left, all the rest gone – either lost through the curse or broken down by the years. They had never had much to begin with.

"When do we go?" Belle asked, her voice firm.

"Soon. I need to find where he is first. There's a way to do that, but it will take time. A week, maybe less."

"I'll pack." She stood, closing the laptop. "I should also find our passports, just in case."

Mr Gold drew his wife into a hug, needing the closeness. Her arms wrapped around him, holding him tight, hands clutching the back of his suit hard enough to leave wrinkles in the fabric. She buried her nose into his shoulder, hiding her face from him. "Shh," Mr Gold soothed her, stroking her hair with one hand. "Nothing to worry about, love. Everything will be fine."

Her shoulder shook, just once, in a supressed laugh. He understood. Who exactly was he trying to convince there? Belle fumbled a moment, drawing an arm between them and reaching between her breasts into her bra. She pulled away just enough to take a swig from the lurid green potion that she took to banish the effects of her alcoholism, face twisting in distaste. "I don't need a drink," she told herself firmly, tucking the bottle back into her bra.

Mr Gold arched an eyebrow. "You keep it there?"

She shrugged. "I don't have pockets." Belle was silent for a moment, looking pensive. "When we leave Storybrooke… will you still be able to use magic?"

"…I don't know. I could be powerless." It was a possibility, one he wasn't particularly fond of.

"Will the potion still work if it was made here?"

Another unpleasant possibility. "There is a chance, yes. I don't know. This is a situation unique in history."

Belle bit her lip. "If it doesn't, stop me from relapsing? Make sure I don't drink?"

Mr Gold smiled reassuringly at his wife. "Of course I won't let you, love." They would just have to stay away from bars. He would have to keep her away from any hotel fridges. Outside of Storybrooke Belle would be a recovering alcoholic, without a handy little potion to remove the side-effects of withdrawal, cravings and potential lapses in judgement.

.

* * *

.

There were no suitcases in the house, a cool reminder that nobody in Storybrooke ever actually went anywhere. Instead Belle had to buy them at the closest thing Storybrooke had to a department store. She bought two suitcases, medium sized, and two smaller for carry-on luggage. They were black, classy, and suitable for travel anywhere in the world. She was lugging the whole lot of them back to her car when Emma crossed her path.

"Going on a trip?" Emma asked, eyebrows raised. "I thought nobody could cross the town line."

"Oh, they can't," Belle replied, smiling helplessly at her. "Not without losing their memories."

"So what are you doing with four suitcases?"

"Failing miserably at carrying them all?"

Emma sighed and came forward to take two of them off her hands. Belle grinned her thanks and fished for the keys to her car now that she had a hand free to do so. "So," Emma said, following her to the blue suv, "what are you really doing with four suitcases?"

"Being hopeful," Belle admitted, "and a little terrified…" She paused to open the boot, and shoved her two suitcases inside, shifting them around to make room for the other two. "Rumpelstiltskin is… trying to find a way for people to cross the line without losing who they are," she said eventually, giving a past version of the truth.

"And if he does, you're planning on leaving?" Emma asked, shoving the other two suitcases into the boot.

"Not forever. Just for a trip." Belle shut the boot. She turned around to face the blonde woman. "Lacey knows that she went to Paris for her honeymoon," she told the other woman softly, "but I don't actually remember a thing about it. We never went there. We've never left this town. Before we go back home – if we ever get back home – I want to have seen some of this world."

It wasn't a lie, not exactly, and that was probably what let it slide under Emma's remarkably accurate bullshit detector. Emma nodded sympathetically. "I know what that's like. I never travelled around the world, but I know what it feels like to be stuck in one place for what feels like forever." She looked around. "I guess for everyone here it really has been 'forever'."

"We used to travel all over the place in the Enchanted Forest," Belle leaned against the boot of the car, looking up at the sky as she remembered their old methods of travel and deals that took Rumpelstiltskin across the world. "From Agrabah to the roof of the world, beaches, lakes, the infinite forest, all of the kingdoms…"

"Agrabah?" Emma repeated. "There was seriously a place called Agrabah? Isn't that where Aladdin is from in that Disney movie?"

"It's also where Sydney is from," Belle told her with a smirk. "He's the magic mirror, you know."

Emma shook her head ruefully, "our lives are so weird. Well… tell Gold I said good luck. If he finds out how to cross the line there'll be a lot of grateful people around here."

"I'll tell him," Belle promised. "Thanks for your help."

"Don't mention it." Emma's phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket and looked at the screen. "Duty calls," she said, "I'll see you later." She walked away, answering the phone with her official 'sheriff voice' as she went.

Belle waited a moment, then got into her car. She had nothing to do now. She couldn't pack until she knew where they'd be going. Baelfire could be just up the road in another state, or he could be in Greenland or somewhere else with an utterly ridiculous climate. Wherever he was, she hoped he wouldn't have a problem with his father having remarried…

.

* * *

.

It took a little while to work out a viable method of divining Baelfire's location. A world atlas, a pendulum, a potion mixed with his own blood, and Mr Gold was ready for a makeshift locator spell. He cleared his desk and placed the atlas in the centre, open to a random page. He summoned his magic, closed his eyes, and poured the potion onto the open book. Once every last drop had been spilled he picked up the pendulum and dangled it over the centre of the atlas. Slowly, the pendulum began to swing. The pages ruffled in an unfelt breeze. As the pendulum picked up speed the pages began to turn, one by one, faster and faster until suddenly both pendulum and pages stopped. Mr Gold opened his eyes to see the pendulum pointing to a location on a map. He smiled in triumph.

"Well," he said aloud, "at least it's not an international flight."

.

* * *

.

"New York," he told Belle that evening over dinner, "that's where we need to go."

"That was quick," Belle noted. He'd estimated a week, but it had only taken him three days. There was a lot to be said for determination.

"It was easier than I thought it would be," Mr Gold agreed with a nod. "Now…"

"You should probably talk to Emma," Belle told him simply, sipping her glass of water (it was a highball glass, as were all the glasses in the house now, tumblers and wine glasses were too tempting, she said). "I can book tickets online and organise a hotel, but you need to be the one to talk to her. I could convince her to go, but she'll want to ask you questions. It'd be better to get them over with."

"You think I should tell her the truth," Mr Gold said flatly, unimpressed with that leap of logic. "Love, the truth leads to questions about the curse, and no good can come of that."

"But if you tell her, she'll probably think you're one of the 'good guys'. An ally, at the very least."

"Have I ever told you that you're very manipulative?" It was one of the things he loved about her, just not when she turned it on him.

Belle smiled at him.

Mr Gold sighed, then smiled back. "Well then," he said, "I'd best inform Miss Swan of her travel plans."

.

* * *

.

It was late, but the light that shone from the crack under the Charming-household's apartment door told him that someone at least was still awake. Mr Gold rapped on the door with the head of his cane, listening a moment as footsteps sounded on the other side of the door.

The door swung open. Emma stood just inside the doorway, barefoot in her jeans and tank top, hair down. "Mr Gold? What are you doing here? You do know what time it is, right?"

"I'm afraid the matter can't wait," Mr Gold replied calmly. "Miss Swan, you remember that favour you owe me?"

Emma gave him a dry look, as if asking how he thought she could forget. "Yeah…"

"I'm cashing it in."

Emma glanced behind her towards the bedrooms. If gossip was to be believed, then Henry was staying there, along with both of Emma's parents. "This isn't a good time," Emma replied, looking back at him.

"You do honour your agreements don't you?" Mr Gold asked, voice dry.

"It's late, Gold. What could you possibly need at this hour?"

"Ah, see, we're not leaving tonight." Mr Gold smiled thinly. "We're leaving tomorrow morning. I just thought you'd rather know now, give you a bit of time to pack."

"Leaving?" Emma repeated dumbly, "where?"

"I need to find someone, Miss Swan," Mr Gold explained, ignoring her questions, "and it needs to be done quickly. I've waited centuries for this, I'm not about to waste time waiting for you to catch up. Belle has booked us flights, non-refundable they are, so I'm not in the mood to argue."

"Find someone… find who?" Emma was frowning at him, arms crossed over her chest as she stared him down.

"My son."

"Why is your son here?" Emma asked, "if he was in the Enchanted Forest why wasn't he in Storybrooke? Unless he wasn't there… Gold, what's going on? What aren't you saying?"

Somewhat uncomfortable, Mr Gold gripped the head of his cane hard. "Some time ago," he said, giving her the abridged version, "my son left the Enchanted Forest for a world without magic. This world. I've been searching for him ever since – with the very brief exception of when the curse was in play. Until now there's been no way to get to him."

"Belle said you were working on a way to cross the town line… This is why, isn't it? Not because you want to go to Paris." Emma sighed. Her arms uncrossed. "Fine. I'll go with you."

"Great. Be ready before nine. We have a long way to go."

.

* * *

.

In the morning Mr Gold woke to the simultaneous sounds of the alarm clock going off and the ensuite shower starting up. He turned off the alarm and rolled over. Belle's side of the bed was dishevelled, sheets bunched and wrinkled as if she'd been tossing and turning all night. That she was up before him was telling. Even in the Dark Castle Belle had rarely woken before he had… though that was back in a time when he had woken with the dawn.

Their bags were already packed and sitting in the boot of his car. All they had to do was get ready, pick up Emma, and get to the airport.

By the time Belle emerged from the ensuite, damp hair twisted up into a knot, Mr Gold was already dressed. He was only missing his shoes, which were set out and waiting by the walk-in. He looked calm and collected, but from the way Belle looked at him he could tell she saw right through it. He was nervous, she was nervous, and they both knew it. Mr Gold straightened a cuff-link, then cleared his throat. "Almost ready, love?"

"I just need to get dressed."

Belle's outfit was hanging on the inside of the walk-in door. Another one of her makeshift-conservative outfits that turned a very short dress into a long top, a cardigan over the top to hide the open back and the straps of her bra. She dressed quickly, enough so that she was ready by the time he had his shoes on.

When they got to Emma's place she opened the door with a groggy glare, a backpack over her shoulder and a travel mug in one hand. Clearly not a morning person, she followed them back to the car without a word and slumped into the back seat. She then sipped from her travel cup in sullen silence. The drive out of town was awkward and quiet, the occupants of the car silent either due to nerves or – in Emma's case – a serious lack of caffeination. Eventually though Emma perked up enough to ask;

"So where are we going anyway?"

"New York," Mr Gold replied, hands tight on the wheel.

"New York?" Emma repeated, eyebrows raised. "Your son is in New York?"

"As far as I can discern, yes."

"As far as you can _discern_?"

"Locating someone by magic is more of an art than a science in this world," Mr Gold explained tightly, "we have an address, but it may not be exact."

"We have a street and a building number, but no apartment number and no guarantee that it's even an apartment building," Belle continued, turning a little in her seat so she could look at Emma in the back of the car, "it could be just a place that he goes frequently. Either way, it will be somewhere he goes to regularly."

"But you're not certain?"

"Lets call it ninety-eight percent," Mr Gold replied dryly, "and leave it at that."

"So how long do you think this is going to take?"

Mr Gold glanced at his wife, who was looking back at him. It was a familiar moment. Silent communication in subtle twitches of eyebrows and lips. "A few days," Mr Gold replied finally, "at most."

"It had better not take longer than that," Emma said, finishing off the contents of her travel mug, "I don't trust Regina not to try anything funny while I'm gone. My parents are looking after Henry, but they're also running the sheriff's department while I'm gone and… And, ugh, it's still so weird to think of them both as my parents."

"Having difficulty adjusting, dearie?" Mr Gold asked, faux-innocently.

Belle poked him in the leg with one perfectly painted fingernail. "Be nice," she told him firmly.

"I'm not nice," Mr Gold retorted, shades of Rumpelstiltskin bleeding through in his teasing tone. "You can't make me be nice."

"Pretend to be nice," Belle corrected herself, a small smile on her lips.

In the back, Emma was staring at them. "Wow," she said, "you guys are really different when you're together."

Belle grinned at her, a friend teasing another friend. "You should have seen us in the Dark Castle."

For the moment the tension was gone, though it reared its head again in the airport. Check-in went smoothly, but getting through customs did not. Emma got through the metal detector just fine, but Belle set off the machine. The attendant waved her back through and gestured to her necklace.

"You'll have to take that off, ma'am."

Belle's hand flew up to the choker in alarm. "It's… I can't…"

"You can't go through if you don't take it off," the attendant replied firmly, looking ready to back this statement up with action if necessary.

"But…"

Mr Gold placed a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be fine," he assured her, though he wasn't _entirely_ certain it would be. "It's just for a minute."

Very reluctantly, Belle undid the catch on the choker and placed it in one of the trays to go through the scanner. She stepped through the metal detector, swaying a little as if off balance. The machine didn't go off again. Out the other side she waited for the tray, quickly snatched the choker when it came through and put it back where it belonged – around her neck. Immediately she sighed, dizziness gone. Mr Gold felt himself relax a little too, now that he knew for certain that a few seconds wouldn't do any damage if either of them were forced to part with their talismans. It was just as well to know that, since he was also asked to remove his scarf along with his shoes and cane. It was easier to do so when he knew for sure it wouldn't have any ill effects.

Once through the scanner he draped the scarf back around his neck and joined Emma and his wife. "Well," he said blandly, "that was a lucky surprise."

Belle was still fiddling with her choker, nervously rubbing the stone with her index finger. It was blue-gray, he noticed, not the vivid blue it had been in Storybrooke. Not a good sign. Though at least it wasn't as dull and dead as it had been in the past. "I don't want to do that again," she said plainly. "I don't care that this thing is uncomfortable to sleep in. I am not taking it off until we're home."

The plane ride was tense. Mr Gold discovered an unfortunate fear of flying, which was one of life's cruel little ironies. Teleportation, horses, boats, cars, travel by almost any other means he was perfectly fine with. But apparently being stuck in a flying metal box (that jiggled and lurched about every now and then during turbulence) miles above the ground, relying on other people to get him safely to his destination was not his cup of tea. He spent the entire trip white-knuckled, jaw clenched, attempting not to let on that he was anything more than uncomfortable. Belle didn't do much better. While she clearly wasn't stressed about the flying aspect of their journey every time the flight attendant passed, or the refreshments cart came down the aisle, she turned to face the window and muttered under her breath. Emma, sitting on the aisle, read a magazine and pretended she didn't notice.

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* * *

.

They took a cab from the airport to the hotel Belle had booked to drop off their gear. It was a nice four star place, not too flash, but definitely not just designed for functionality. The theme was modern, beiges and creams dressed up with splashes of espresso and red. Belle had booked them a room with two queen beds, assuming that they wouldn't be spending much time in the hotel that wasn't sleeping. Emma dumped her gear on the bed closest to the door, letting Mr Gold and Belle take the one closer to the window. Probably in case she needed a quick escape, Mr Gold thought with dry amusement.

With their suitcases stowed away, Mr Gold pulled out a folded-up map from the briefcase that had been his carry-on. It was a page torn from a road atlas, a red circle marked around one block, a smaller red dot in the centre where the map marked the number for a building. An apartment block, or so they assumed. The hotel was within walking distance, no further than walking from one end of Storybrooke's main street to the other.

"Well then," he said to the two women, "shall we be going?"

Belle nodded, extracting her handbag from her own luggage and slinging it over her shoulder. Emma just stood, feet apart, hands on hips, everything she needed already on her person. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"An apartment building," Mr Gold answered, tucking a billfold from his briefcase into the inside pocket of his suit jacket just in case. "Two blocks from here."

"Not far," Emma noted.

"We've been planning this a while, Miss Swan," Mr Gold answered, leading the way to the door.

"So I can see," Emma replied, following behind.

Once they were out in the hallway Belle locked the door behind them. There was a short, tense ride in the elevator, then they were out on the street again. The noise and bustle was incomparable to the quiet streets of Storybrooke. There, busy was a handful of cars on the road and a few knots of pedestrians. Here people flowed in constant trickling streams on either side of the road, cars passing by with barely a gap between them. If it was ever this busy in Storybrooke then either they were having a town meeting or they were about to have a riot.

The comparison made him uncomfortable. An odd feeling, one he hadn't had to deal with in quite some time. He felt naked without the cloak of magic that swirled about him in his natural state, intangible and invisible to the naked eye. Still, Mr Gold was here for a reason. He was here for Bae.

He squared his shoulders and set out in the direction the map-spell had provided him back in Storybrooke, Emma and Belle following behind him.

The apartment building was fairly respectable-looking, at least on the outside. The inside was worn and in need of a good paint job, the lobby cut off from the elevator and stairs by a door that required a buzzer or key-card to get through. By the door was a row of intercom buzzers, each one neatly labelled with hand-written names.

Mr Gold scanned the names, looking for anything that seemed familiar.

Belle looked over his shoulder, giving the names a quick scan. "Of course it wouldn't be as easy as using his real name," she said dryly.

"Baelfire would stand out," Mr Gold agreed.

Emma snorted, arms crossed. "Yeah, I doubt he'd be using that. This spell of yours didn't give you an apartment number?"

"Just the building number."

"And none of these names mean anything to you?" Emma asked.

Mr Gold shook his head. "Names are often useful in magic, but sadly no. None of these are familiar."

Belle stepped back so Emma could look at the names and numbers. She scanned the list, trailing her index finger down the line of numbers. "Here," she said, her finger stopping on the only number that didn't have a hand-written name next to it, "here's your boy."

"Or," Mr Gold replied coolly, "it could just be vacant."

"You might know about magic and names," Emma replied, equally cool, "but I know about finding people who don't want to be found. And those sort of folks don't like to advertise their whereabouts." Without waiting for a response she pressed the buzzer. "UPS package for four-oh-seven," she said when the intercom picked up.

There was no response, only the soft click of the person on the other end disconnecting. The door didn't buzz them through. A sudden noise from outside made Emma turn.

"The fire escape," she said, "he's running."

"I can't run," Belle replied immediately, eyes snapping down to her inappropriate footwear, then up to her husband.

Mr Gold was looking at Emma. "That favour you owe me. This is it. Get him to talk to me."

Emma hesitated a moment, then she nodded. A second later she was dashing out onto the street and following the man who had just dropped down from the fire escape. Mr Gold got outside in time to see her chase him around a corner. Then they were gone from sight, and all he could do was hope Emma didn't let him down.

A small, soft hand touched his shoulder. "She's tenacious," Belle told him softly, "she won't lose him."

"She'd better not. I have no way to track him here." It was a source of worry for him, that he could get so close only to lose him again without even the chance to explain. "Baelfire has been running for a long time now. By now he'll be quite good at it."

"Well Emma is quite good at catching people." The hand on his shoulder squeezed, then dropped, and Belle wrapped both of her arms around one of his. "She'll get him to talk to you."

"Ah, yes. But then what?"

"You're nervous," Belle noted. She bit her lower lip, then admitted; "I'm nervous too."

"We didn't part under the best of circumstances," Mr Gold continued. "I abandoned him to this other world. Even if I regretted it the second after, it still happened. Time doesn't dull that kind of memory."

"You may have abandoned him but you spent lifetimes trying to get back to him," Belle pointed out. "You created a curse, plotted and planned and wove the threads of so many people's lives together until finally you could find him."

Mr Gold's lips twisted into a small smile. "You have a unique turn of mind, love. Not many would hear that and think it was a good thing."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: Thankyou for everyone who reviewed. I hope you guys like this one.

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* * *

.

They had been waiting for what seemed like a long time – long enough at least for Belle to cajole him into hotdogs and soda from a nearby stand – when Emma finally returned. Alone, Mr Gold noticed. Alone, and with a cagey sort of look about her.

"Hey," she said as she approached, looking uncomfortable, "I'm sorry but… he got away."

Mr Gold exchanged a glance with his wife. Belle hastily finished the last bite of her hotdog and crumpled up her napkin. "Not like a gangster novel my ass," she said, trotting back into the apartment building in her ridiculous heels.

"Wait," Emma said, "where's she going?"

"She's finding a way into the building," Mr Gold responded, as calmly as he could under the circumstances. "And then we'll find my son."

"He's gone," Emma said, glancing back over her shoulder down the street. "Gold, there's no point. He won't be there."

"But he lives here," Mr Gold replied, "he'll be back."

"I got it!" Belle's voice sailed out from the lobby, "someone buzzed us through."

Mr Gold turned away from Emma and walked into the building. Belle stood by the door, holding it open as she waited for him. He stalked through and pressed the button for the elevator. Emma hesitated, then hastily followed before Belle could close the door behind them. The elevator opened. Mr Gold pressed the button for the fourth floor.

"I have hair pins," Belle said, rummaging through her purse, "will those do?"

"They'll do nicely, my dear," Mr Gold replied, watching the floor numbers.

"Wait," Emma said again, looking back and forth between them. "You're going to break in? You can't do that."

"Actually, I can," Mr Gold's voice was cold, "and I will." He accepted a handful of hair pins from Belle as the doors opened again, and strode out into the hall to find number four-oh-seven. The lock on the door was an old-fashioned one, a kind his Storybrooke self was familiar with. He set about picking it, methodically inserting and twisting the hair pins to trip the tumblers, stubbornly ignoring anything Emma had to say about the matter.

"You can't just break in," Emma was protesting again.

"He can," Belle told her, "he's really good at it. He used to try and tell me he didn't know how, but I always knew better."

Lacey always knew better. They may have never talked about it openly, but Lacey had always known there was more to her husband than just landlord and shop owner, or part-time solicitor. It was something Mr Gold had liked about her, the way she saw him for what he was and accepted it unconditionally.

"He might not come back," Emma said.

"Finding people is what you do, Miss Swan," Mr Gold informed her, working on the last tumbler, "I'm simply going to assist you. There may be information here. Who he is, what he does, who he loves."

"No, don't do this. There are things called laws."

Despite her protests, Mr Gold noticed that she didn't try very hard to stop him. The last tumbler clicked into place and he opened the door. The apartment was on the smallish side, lived in but clean, with a few prints hanging in frames on the wall. He spotted a desk and made a beeline for the papers strewn across it. Belle followed, tackling the desk drawers while he scanned the papers on top.

Emma, meanwhile, wandered over to the window. Mr Gold wouldn't have noticed, but he happened to turn slightly just as she stiffened oddly, reaching out for a dream catcher hanging from the window frame.

"Find something, dearie?" he commented, suspicion rearing up at the look on her face.

"Nothing," Emma said, far too quickly, making an aborted move to hide the thing behind her back before realising that would be even more suspicious. "Uh, it's a dream catcher."

"Yes, well, if it's nothing, why are you still holding it?" Mr Gold raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for a response. When she didn't reply immediately his expression hardened into granite. "You're lying to me."

"What is it?" Belle asked, turning to look at them both, abandoning her own search in favour of this confrontation.

"Just get back to looking, ok?" Emma tried on a smile, which fell rather flat.

"No no," Mr Gold took a step towards her, watching her back up closer to the window. "You saw something," he pressed, "tell me."

"You don't know what you're –" Emma began, cut off when Mr Gold growled;

"Tell me!"

"Emma," Belle said hesitantly, "if there's something you should tell us…?"

"No," Emma insisted, dropping the dream catcher like a hot brick and letting it fall to the floor, "there's nothing here. This guy's a ghost."

"You think me a fool?" Mr Gold asked, his voice dripping acid, "you're holding back. I want to know what, and why."

"I'm not holding back," Emma replied, only making it more obvious that she was.

"Did he tell you something?"

"He didn't say anything!"

"But you talked to him."

"Don't put words in my mouth –"

"Tell me!"

Belle stepped forward hurriedly, putting a hand on Mr Gold's arm before he could raise his cane even an inch from the floor. "Emma, please," she pleaded, her soft tone a jarring contrast to her husband's glare, "this is _important_."

"No."

"You made a deal," Belle insisted quietly, "you promised. You have a debt that you owed to us, and it looks like you've betrayed us. Emma, you betrayed a man looking for his son. I thought we were friends. I thought we could trust you."

"This isn't my fault," Emma said firmly, "when I made the deal I didn't know…" she trailed off.

"Know what?" Mr Gold pressed, eyes narrowed.

Which was when the door opened, admitting a stocky brown-haired man with Milah's eyes. All movement in the apartment stopped. Mr Gold froze, he could feel it come over himself. A wash of ice down his spine as he looked at the man in the doorway and recognised his face. Unlike with August's charade there was no room for doubt in him. This was his son. "Bae," he breathed, any anger at Emma's deception vanishing at the sight of him. "You came back."

"For her," Baelfire said, and gestured towards Emma, who stood frozen by the window, the dream catcher on the floor in front of her, "not for you. I've seen what you do to people who break deals."

He would remember the worst. He was only a child when Rumpelstiltskin had gained his curse and gone drunk on the power that came with it. Mr Gold swallowed. He straightened. "Please, Bae, just let me explain."

"I have no interest in talking to you," Baelfire replied, his cool tone of voice so like Mr Gold's could be, "you can go."

"I'm not going anywhere," Mr Gold insisted gently, "not until we speak."

"Get out of my apartment!"

The shout was sudden and unexpected. Even Emma looked uncertain. "Neal…" she said.

"Emma, I got this," Baelfire – Neal – replied.

Things snapped into place. "You two know each other," Mr Gold said aloud. It was a realisation he'd been coming to since he saw the way Emma reacted to that dream catcher. Now that he'd said it aloud it was obvious. Emma would never just let someone go for no reason. Like her parents she wasn't one to break her word lightly. "You two know each other. How?"

"You sent me chasing after him," Emma explained, the excuse weak.

Belle's hand stopped him again before he could speak. She looked back and forth between Emma and Neal. "You were in love," she said, the words sending a bolt of shock through his system. "I recognise the look," Belle continued, "you knew each other once, and you were in love."

"Who are you?" Neal demanded, eyeing her with open suspicion, especially the hand she had on Mr Gold's arm.

"I'm Belle," she replied, in her diplomat's voice, "once of Avonlea, now of Storybrooke. Previously known as Lacey Gold. Also sometimes called the Enchantress. Baelfire… Neal we've come a long way to find you. Your father isn't here to hurt you, or Emma, all he wants is a chance to talk."

"To talk," Neal repeated dryly. He glanced at Emma, then shrugged and looked back at Belle and his father. "Ok, fine. Three minutes, and then you're out."

"Three minutes," Mr Gold agreed, not about to turn down the opportunity, no matter how small a window it was.

"Clock's ticking," Neal pointed out mercilessly.

"I know I've made mistakes," Mr Gold began, brutally honest even as he chose his words for maximum effect, "but you must believe me. I want to make up for it. If I could change how things happened, I would have, in a second I would have, but I can't. All I can do is ask for a chance to make it up to you. There's no greater pain than regret."

"Try abandonment," Neal replied, unmoved.

"Try three hundred years," Belle piped up softly, a reassuring presence at Mr Gold's side. "Three hundred years of searching, looking for a way to cross between worlds and find you. You were fourteen, you can't have spent more than twenty years in this world."

A brief spark of surprise crossed Neal's face, quickly stamped out by a glare that was heavily tempered with resentment. "He still abandoned me."

"Let me make it up to you," Mr Gold said, "please."

"How are you going to do that?" Neal demanded. "I grew up alone. I grew up without a father. You can make up for that?"

"I can try. Come with us to Storybrooke. Let us get to know each other again, give me a chance to repair what I broke."

Neal hesitated, but his response made it clear he wasn't won over; "Two minutes."

"I can't make up for lost time," Mr Gold continued firmly, "I know that. All I can ask for is a chance. Bae… give me a chance, let me prove to you that I've changed. You… you once loved me."

"You were once a good man."

Too aware of Belle beside him, and Emma standing by the window pretending she wasn't there, Mr Gold knew full well that a pretty lie wouldn't help him here. He wasn't a good man. Frankly he didn't want to _be_ a good man, not in the way that the Charmings were good. But he had changed. Everyone who had been cursed to live in Storybrooke had changed, even if they didn't yet realise it.

"I've changed," he told his son. "I came here, to this city, without magic."

"Does Storybrooke have magic?" Neal asked pointedly.

"Yes," Belle answered for him, "we needed it to leave. We couldn't cross the town border without it. Not without losing ourselves, our memories, forever."

"You chose magic over me."

Neal's eyes were on his, hurt and betrayed. Mr Gold shook his head. "No, Bae. Never. I was a coward, I panicked, and I lost you. In one second I lost everything I held dear. But it was never a choice."

That at least was true, in its way. The blue fairy had meddled, and given them a solution that would have solved all of Baelfire's problems in only the most literal sense whilst also removing the curse of the Dark One from the Enchanted Forest forever. Rumpelstiltskin had always had his theories as to which part the fairy had thought the more important, more noble cause.

And he didn't remember it as a decision. He remembered it as a vice that wound around his heart, a physical pain that shot through his body. He remembered letting go, not because he wanted to, but because something, some part of him, forced him to. It had been long before he fully realised the nature of his curse, that it would protect itself at all costs and the only way to rid himself of it would be to pass it on to someone else through death. Sometimes he wondered if the fairy knew that, but had decided it worth the cost of trying anyway.

"Every night," Neal told him, hands curling into fists by his sides to hide the way his hands trembled, "I used to dream about it. Every night I saw my hand, wrapped around yours, and every night I saw you let go. Do you know what that did to me? Do you know how much I've gone through?"

He could say yes. He could claim that he knew, because he'd had those nightmares himself for a hundred years. But that wasn't what his son wanted to hear. So he said no, shoulders sagging under the weight of it. "No," Mr Gold sighed, "no, I don't."

He moved then, walking away from Belle's reassuring hand towards the door. Neal stepped out of his way, suspicion giving way to confusion when his father didn't try to touch him and instead just walked through the door and down the hall to the elevator. Mr Gold pressed the call button and stood there, stubbornly not looking back. If he looked back the stinging in his eyes would turn to tears, and he hadn't given in to that in over a century.

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* * *

.

Belle stood there in shock as her husband walked away, sorrow and defeat in every line of his body. This was not the way she thought things would have gone. She'd imagined they'd be awkward, yes. And painful. But she'd pictured it as the good kind of pain, the healing pain. Not…. this. The elevator pinged its arrival before she had recovered enough to react, and by the time she got out to the hall the doors were already closing. Back in the apartment Emma was apologising. Belle was not in the mood to apologise. She wasn't in the mood to play at being kind or compassionate, or to grasp for words and phrases to try and sway Neal to her way of thinking.

She was in the mood for a good stiff drink, every part of her craving a good bottle of white wine, and the very thought of that made her angry. Angry at Regina, for making her this way, angry at this world for its lack of magic, angry that they had come all this way seemingly for nothing.

She stomped back into the apartment, heels clicking dangerously, and took her handbag from her shoulder so she was holding it by the straps. Eyes narrowed, she marched straight up to Neal and hit him with it – though not as hard as she could have.

"Hey!" He reacted by jumping back and aiming a shocked glare at her. "What the hell was that for?"

"He didn't tell me for _years_ that he had a son, because it was too painful," Belle informed him, very tempted to whack him again (she knew that was the Lacey side of her talking, the part of her that had never learned the benefits of tact), "he moved _mountains_ to get to you, and you say 'he abandoned me'?"

"Lacey –" Emma began, then corrected herself; "Belle –"

Belle held up a hand to silence her, manicured finger pointing dangerously at her friend. "Emma, don't. I am angry, I am tired, and I am not in the mood to be nice about this."

"Nice?" Neal repeated, incredulous. "You already broke into my apartment! You sent her to chase me down! What the hell part of all this was being nice?"

"You don't get the moral high ground here," Belle informed Neal, swinging around to point at him. "You ran. You ran without knowing why we were here or who we were. You ran without knowing it was your father who was looking for you, or why he might want to see you. You ran, and when you did find out the who and the why the only reason you came back was because you thought the worst of him."

"I've seen what he does to people who break deals," Neal shot back.

"So have I! And let me tell you every single time it's always been someone who is quite happy to take the magic, or the money, and who only balks when it turns out their greed might have consequences. You have a child's memories of your father. You saw him cursed with darkness, changed from the man you knew. You saw him abandon you, but you never saw any of what happened afterwards. And now you refuse to even give yourself a chance to know him."

"How can I know him?" Neal asked, and somewhere beneath the anger there was a hint of pleading. "How can I trust him after what he did? He's the Dark One! I spent my whole life running from him, trying to forget."

"And he's spent his whole life trying to make up for the worst mistake he ever made." Belle paused, half for the effect, and half because she desperately needed to catch her breath. "Letting you go."

Neal stepped back. He slumped against the wall, hand raising to run over his face. The anger drained out of him, leaving only the pleading and the despair.

Emma was looking at Belle oddly, as if only just seeing her. Or as if she was seeing the her that Snow White and Prince James had seen before, the one that made it into the pages of Henry's book. "He planned this," Emma said with dawning understanding, "from the beginning. He knew I'd never let Ashley go through with that deal. I'm the only one who can cross the town line without the curse affecting me. He knew that. That's what the deal was about, wasn't it? The favour. He knew what it was going to be the moment he came to talk to me about finding Ashley."

Belle shrugged helplessly. There was no use denying that sort of thing now. "Probably," she admitted. "He's sneaky like that."

"And Henry?" Emma asked, "was that on purpose too? Did he arrange for Henry to be the mayor's son just so that he'd come and find me?"

Belle shook her head. "He was still cursed then. He couldn't have known."

"Who's Henry?"

Neal's voice made Emma stiffen. Once again she looked as if she'd rather be anywhere but where she was now. "My son," she explained, very reluctantly.

"You have a son?"

Emma looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, I do. Henry. He's back in Storybrooke."

"How old is he?"

Emma looked away, not answering. Belle looked back and forth between them, suddenly feeling very much out of place as she began to understand why her friend had been so cagey since finding out who Baelfire was.

"Is he mine?" Neal asked, searching Emma's face, "Emma, is he mine?"

"Yes," she answered, eyes on the floor so she didn't risk meeting his gaze.

Neal raised a hand to his face again, looking as if his world had just collapsed. He breathed in heavily, obviously overwhelmed. If not by everything that had happened already then by the sudden revelation that he had a child. The hand dropped, revealing a stricken expression. "Were you even going to tell me?"

Emma stubbornly didn't respond, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

Belle fiddled with the strap of her bag, feeling that this conversation had taken a very awkward turn. Her anger at the situation had dulled to a low buzz, something sharp and acidic at the back of her throat – like the burn from the whiskey that she used to drink only on special occasions or very bad days. Today felt like a very bad day. The burn, more than the awkwardness, was her cue to leave. "Emma," she said softly. "I need to go back to the hotel. This is a disaster, and I need to get back there before I decide to go to a bar instead."

Emma didn't respond straight away, too busy not looking at Neal. When she did look up she saw the tense look on Belle's face and the way her hands were clutched white-knuckled around the straps of her handbag. "Ok," she said, uncrossing her arms and moving towards her friend. "Ok, we're going." She paused near Neal and the door. "I'm sorry, Neal," she told him, still not quite able to look him in the eye, "I just… I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

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* * *

.

Mr Gold was sitting on the bed in the hotel, cane dangling uselessly from one hand, shoulders slumped in defeat. He had planned on checking that the airline had seats available for a flight that evening, but somehow when he got into the hotel room he'd found himself just sitting down instead. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there unable to do more than just stare absently at the floor when the door opened, admitting Emma and his wife.

"… doesn't work?" Emma was asking, concern in her voice.

Belle shook her head. "I tried it," she confirmed with a sigh, "it doesn't. It won't until we get back to Storybrooke."

"No luck then?" Mr Gold asked. He'd meant for it to be a sarcastic drawl, but somehow it came out bland and toneless instead.

"Well…" Emma hedged, obviously reluctant to relay whatever had happened after he'd left.

Belle sat down on the bed next to him. She kicked off her shoes one by one, letting them skitter across the floor. "You have a grandson," she informed him without any frills. "It turns out Henry is Baelfire's. He seemed rather shocked at the revelation."

Mr Gold's eyebrows shot upwards, the news startling enough that it actually caused a reaction. He looked at Emma, then his wife. "Well," he said, not sure how to feel about _that_ titbit of information, "this family tree is getting quite convoluted."

It was fate, of course. Destiny always had a terrible sense of humour. Everything intertwined, Emma was the saviour and Henry was both the reason she came to Storybrooke and the reason she came to believe. The curse, created for the sole purpose of finding his son. It made sense – in that perverse way that fate had – that Emma and Henry would be part of that too.

Emma sat down heavily on the other bed. "Your wife is one persuasive lady," she told him, in an altogether transparent attempt to change the topic, "and you're one sneaky guy, Gold. How long were you plotting this?"

"Oh, no longer than a century or two." He sighed, and raised a hand to touch the scarf wrapped around his neck. "I suppose we best go home," Mr Gold noted, "this magic wasn't designed to last forever."

And Baelfire knew where they were. He would either come and find them in his own time, or not at all. It spoke to how much Rumpelstiltskin had changed that giving him that choice was even an option. He had thought about forcing Neal to go with them, even abducting him if necessary. Once they had crossed the town line he could reverse the clock, he could erase the years Baelfire had spent in this world, make him fourteen again and _take_ his second chance. But he had a feeling Belle wouldn't like that, and their dear saviour certainly wouldn't. Taking that road would make life much harder than it had to be.

So he would leave it up to Baelfire to decide.

"You gave it a shot," Emma said, awkwardly sympathetic, "you apologised, and he listened. It may not be everything you wanted, but it's a start, right?"

"Lets go home," Belle agreed. She sighed, moving to lean against his side. "Remember when you could take us home in just a blink of an eye? I miss that. I miss the Dark Castle."

She was talking about going _home_, he knew, not just to Storybrooke. About finding a way back to the Enchanted Forest. Mr Gold had to admit, despite the many conveniences of this world, there were things back home that this world just couldn't equal. And there was a way. Of course there was a way. Nothing was impossible. He'd just need a little time to find it… and then the people of Storybrooke would thank their beloved Snow and Charming, conveniently forgetting that he had done all the work.

"I think it's time," Mr Gold sighed. "I'll begin work when we return to Storybrooke."

"Work? On going home?" Emma was frowning at him, "you mean to the Enchanted Forest? Mary-Margaret told me they weren't even sure it still exists."

"Oh, it exists. It's just a wee bit difficult to get to without the proper, ah, ingredients." Like magic beans, which were about as easy to come by as hen's teeth even in a world where they existed at all.

"But you can do it, right?"

Mr Gold looked across at the sheriff, noting her posture and the way she was very obviously trying to keep her face clear of emotion. "Wee bit nervous are we, dearie?" he asked, needling just for the sake of it. "Worried you might not like the White Castle of Starrow and your parents' lands?"

"What's the White Castle of Starrow?" Emma asked, latching onto that as a means not to answer the more uncomfortable questions.

"Starrow was Snow White's kingdom," Belle answered, with a subtle poke to her husband to tell him to play nice. At least for now. "Regina ruled it for a while before they won it back from her. Prince Charming comes from Leed, a kingdom that shared its border with Starrow. The White Castle is where you were born, where your parents were meant to rule."

"So where's the Dark Castle? Where did you come from?"

Mr Gold suppressed a small, sly smile, beginning to wonder if Emma wasn't also trying to cheer them up a bit. An odd suspicion to have, but surely her parents would have told her this by now, or she would have read it in Henry's book. "Me? I come from nightmares, dearie. Didn't your parents tell you that?"

Belle elbowed him, much less subtle this time. "The Dark Castle is in no-man's-land in the forest between Starrow and Leed. I come from Leed, Rumpel never told me where he comes from but I always thought it would be somewhere in the south given his accent."

Mr Gold couldn't help a smile at that. "Clever Belle," he said, the words familiar and affectionate.

.

* * *

.

The trip back to Storybrooke was subdued. Mr Gold endured the plane ride in silence, only perking up a little when they were back on solid ground. True, they hadn't exactly succeeded in reuniting him with his son, but at least he knew Baelfire was alive and well… And since it had been revealed that Henry was Baelfire's son Mr Gold had a suspicion that sooner or later he would make his way to Storybrooke for a visit. The connection was there, it just needed time to be reforged. They reached Storybrooke in record time, cruising down the main street to see Prince James and Henry dueling with wooden swords. Mr Gold stopped the car to let Emma out there, watching as the boy dropped his sword when he saw her and ran to give her a hug.

"Good grief," he heard Belle mutter, "I'm a grandmother."

Mr Gold laughed. "Step-grandmother, dearie," he reminded her evilly.

"Am I allowed to be a wicked step-grandmother, do you think?" she asked.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: Just a warning, this one ends with a bit of a cliffhanger. Unfortunately it was the only place I could cut it off without going on another five thousand words. Enjoy.

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* * *

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If either of them had expected anything to change with the revelation that Henry was Mr Gold's grandson, the next day was disappointingly normal. Mr Gold left for the shop at the usual time and sequestered himself in the back room that he'd made his work room, intent on this new problem of finding a way back to the Enchanted Forest. Doubtless the fairies were on the job as well, perhaps even Regina, but Rumpelstiltskin neither trusted them to get the job done or to let the likes of him know when and if they did. Besides which, as the creator of the curse he had a peculiar sort of insight into its nature. Unless a short-cut presented itself he was certain that he'd be the one to find the way.

The first step was always to plan. To gather resources and research, to think through the probabilities and possibilities. The first step was always messy and thoroughly time consuming, though at least here he had the benefit of fountain pens and biros instead of using quills that constantly needed to be wet with ink to record his notes and ideas.

He was hunched over the book, scribbling away, face arranged into a determined frown, when the shop door jingled to announce a visitor.

"It's me," Belle's voice rang out, "I brought coffee."

"In here," Mr Gold called, somewhat unnecessarily. He stopped writing and sat up straight, only just noticing the twinge in his back from sitting for so long in the same position.

Belle appeared in the doorway carrying two things – a pair of takeaway coffees in a cardboard tray, and a rolled up piece of paper that looked suspiciously as if it had been stolen from the art room at the elementary. She walked over to the desk and presented him with one of the coffees. "Cappuccino," she told him, "with a double-shot of espresso. I figured you could do with the extra caffeine."

"Thankyou." He could indeed, and took a sip from the cup before asking; "And what's that?"

Belle looked down at the paper in her hands, then smiled. She perched herself on the corner of his desk where there was no clutter for her to sit on and handed him the paper. He unrolled it carefully, eyebrows raising at the family tree that had been carefully drawn into the centre. It was labelled in Belle's handwriting, with spaces left for photographs or sketches above each name, the title 'Ruling House of Starrow' emblazoned at the top. "What do you think?" she asked, the smile on her lips suspiciously like a smirk.

Mr Gold scanned the family tree, amused to note that each label on the tree (bar two) had two names. The first, their 'real' names, and the second their Storybrooke identities. "I see a recipe for some truly terrible family reunions," he answered dryly.

"They haven't told him yet. Henry. Emma told her parents," Belle said, with a small shrug, "but so far they're keeping him in the dark. Regina made a brief appearance while we were gone, apparently," she added, "she told Mary-Margaret and David that she's trying to reform."

"And how is that going to work?" Mr Gold asked idly, not convinced for a moment that she would manage to change. Not to the point they would want her to. Regina would never return to being the sweet young woman Snow White might recall from her childhood. She had been pushed too far for that. He should know, he'd done a lot of the pushing.

"Therapy," Belle replied, raising her coffee to her lips. She paused before taking a sip. "You don't think she could actually change, do you?"

"Years of therapy wouldn't put her on the right path for good. In the years that I've known of her Regina has been broken, taken apart, and put back together more times than I care to count. For every selfless act there have been a thousand wicked, selfish deeds." He paused, thinking it over. "I'd be surprised if she lasts a month."

"I don't know if I should feel sorry for her or not," Belle mused, frowning slightly. "I still don't like her."

"Lets put it this way… Since you first met her Regina has talked down to you, insulted you, tried to take your heart and make you her spy, made you an alcoholic, and has consistently tried to undermine and kill the people you care about. I think you have a right to dislike her, dearie."

"I'm a recovering alcoholic now," Belle corrected him. "But now I feel better about not feeling sorry for her."

"I hear the dwarves are looking for diamonds in the mines," Mr Gold said, deciding it was time to change the subject.

"Mm, they haven't found any yet. Everyone seems pretty convinced that fairy dust is the way back home." She raised her eyebrows.

Mr Gold chuckled. "They'll be in for a rude shock then. If it was as easy as fairy dust I have a few wands that aren't lacking in their power."

"Mother superior seems pretty certain."

"Never trust someone who calls themselves 'superior'," Mr Gold replied smoothly, "they usually aren't."

"Except you, of course."

"I don't claim the word as my name."

"Point," Belle agreed with a nod, crossing her ankles. "In any case the royal family seems content to place their trust in fairies and ignore that you're looking for a way back too."

"Then it'll be a nice surprise for them all, won't it?" Mr Gold put his coffee aside, the cup only half finished, and cracked open his notebook again. "I'd best be back to work, love. Problems like these don't solve themselves."

Belle hopped down from the desk. She bent and kissed his cheek. "Don't forget to come home for dinner. Even the great Rumpelstiltskin needs to eat."

"Or you could come back here and we'll order take out," he suggested, smiling at her.

"You _are_ coming home tonight."

Mr Gold chuckled. "Bossy wee Belle. Alright. I'll be home for dinner."

.

* * *

.

Dinner had been nice, and it had been nice to have a night alone together. Belle had even managed to convince her husband not to go back to the store and his workroom until morning, instead taking advantage of the after-effects of the curse. Magic worked differently here, enough so that true love's kiss no longer forced their relationship into something absurdly chaste. Belle only hoped that it would carry over into the Enchanted Forest when they returned, that the curse had changed things enough that even when they went back one kiss wouldn't risk her husband's true self.

She spent the morning working on her novel, secretly glad to find that Lacey's writing ability had stayed with her after the curse had broken. Belle would likely never see it published – Lacey's publishers didn't appear to actually exist – but it felt good to be able to do something, to keep to a familiar routine.

At exactly eleven-thirty she packed up her laptop and added a pair of tights to her outfit to make it look just a touch more appropriate for daytime in Storybrooke. By ten to twelve she was out the door and headed to Granny's diner for her usual Wednesday lunch.

She could tell that something was going on inside before she even got to the door. Peering in through the window she could see Emma standing by the counter and looking stricken, Mary-Margaret awkward beside her. On the opposite side of the counter Granny had an odd expression on her face, somewhere between disapproving and extremely curious. And there, in front of them all, Belle could see the back of a man's head.

Belle hurried into the diner just in time to hear the tail end of what the man was saying.

"… and expect me to just forget about it?"

Emma's eyes slid from the man's face and over his shoulder to Belle. She looked slightly relieved to see a potential rescuer. "Belle," she said, clearly looking for a way out of whatever conversation she was having.

The man turned around, and Belle was only a little surprised to see that the source of Emma's uncomfortableness was Neal. His eyes narrowed at Belle suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

"I come here every practically every day for lunch," Belle replied, smiling pleasantly. "I take it you just got into town?"

"I'm here to see my son," Neal replied firmly, obviously not seeing the irony. "I'm not here for him."

"Neal," Emma said pleadingly, "he doesn't know. I haven't told him. Just…just let me speak to him first. I don't want him finding out about his dad from you just showing up after school."

"Well maybe you should have thought of that before you forgot to tell me that we had a child together!"

"I didn't know it was going to work out like this!" Emma protested.

"I don't appreciate you keeping it from me," Neal replied, "but, ok, I can see where you were coming from. But now that I know, I want to be a part of his life. Hell, I at least want to _meet_ the kid! And I didn't come all this way just for you to tell me I can't see him."

"I'm not saying you can't see him. I'm saying give me a chance to talk to him first. We can have dinner or something, or you could come see him tomorrow before school."

"Great, or how about lunch? Or dinner tomorrow? Or never, right? Today, after school," Neal said, pointing at Emma, "you can talk to him first if you want, but I am going to see my son."

With that final announcement Neal turned away from Emma. He stepped around Belle and exited the diner, leaving everyone inside to mill around awkwardly. Belle shook her head as she watched him go. She recognised that temper, as clearly as she recognised the inability to tolerate negotiation.

Emma groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I can't do this," she said, her mother placing a hand on her shoulder. "I told Henry his father died. What's he going to think of me when he finds out the truth?"

"I'm sure everything will be ok," Mary-Margaret soothed, "just tell Henry the truth, don't wait until he finds it out for himself. He might be hurt, but he's a good boy, he'll understand."

Belle came up to the counter and took a seat close to where the other two women were standing. "She's right," she told Emma, "the longer you wait, the worse it's going to be." To Granny she added; "The usual please, Granny? Thankyou."

The old woman 'hmphed' in disapproval, but went out to the kitchen anyway.

Emma shook her head, hands falling from her face. "I can't tell him what really happened. What could I say? His father's a thief who left me to take the fall for him and go to jail? He'd be devastated. I told him his father was a hero. I can't… I can't do that to him."

"Emma… you have to tell him something," Mary-Margaret sighed.

"I think you should tell him the truth," Belle added. "Tell him his father used to be a thief, and that he ran out on you when you went to jail." Both women looked at her, Emma in disbelief, Mary-Margaret in concern. Belle shrugged. "Tell him the truth and let him know why you lied to him. Tell him you didn't want him to think badly of you, that you never thought you'd even see that man again, and that you didn't want Henry thinking his dad was just a deadbeat."

"Emma, you don't have to do that," Mary-Margaret told her daughter softly. "You can handle this however you want to. But… she does have a point. Henry is old enough to understand the truth."

"At least that way you can make sure you introduce them on your terms," Belle finished.

Emma groaned. "You're ganging up on me." She sighed heavily. "But you're right. He deserves to know the truth. How long until lunch is over?"

Mary-Margaret checked her watch. With the town back in a semblance of order she had gone back to her job teaching, leaving Emma and David to handle the sheriff's department. "Fifteen minutes," she replied. "If we leave now you can talk to him before class starts."

"Rain check?" Emma said to Belle, her smile just a touch strained. "Thanks for being straight with me," she added, "I think I needed the reality check."

"That's what I'm here for," Belle smiled back. "If you see Neal again," she continued as Granny reappeared with Belle's usual order, "tell him he's invited over for dinner… not that he'll come, but it never hurts to ask."

"I will," Emma promised on her way out the door. Mary-Margaret smiled her goodbye and followed, leaving Belle alone in the diner.

Belle smiled at the old woman, feeling perverse as she informed her; "They're going to see my step-grandson."

Granny scowled. "Burger, fries, and an iced tea. No whiskey. Enjoy."

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* * *

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Back sore, bones aching, fingers cramped from writing so much by hand, Mr Gold limped up the driveway to the front door, frowning when he saw it was open. It had been a long day, one of many such long days to come. He missed the days when he could spend hours hunched over a desk and not feel a thing, when his leg didn't bother him and recovering from a long day was as easy as a cup of tea. Theoretically he could get to that point again with a little magic, but so far it had seemed more logical to remain as he was; Outwardly normal, physically unassuming, blending in at least in form if not in practice. Why tempt fate when it was clear that Storybrooke was no longer cut off from the outside world as much as it had been? Today though, today he had been sorely tempted.

The front door was open, the hall light illuminating the steps to the front patio. Inside, by the hall table and the crystal bowl he kept his keys, stood Belle and a guest. A familiar figure, one that made goosebumps prickle the back of his neck. He should have known by now that he was in town, but he'd been so busy he hadn't had a chance to check in with any of his usual sources of information. Neal stood with his back to the door, though from the way he stiffened slightly when Mr Gold's cane hit the patio steps he'd guess that his son knew he was coming without needing to see.

Neal turned before Mr Gold could even reach the front door. "I just came by to talk about Emma," he said bluntly. "I'm not here for dinner."

"I invited him for dinner," Belle informed him over Neal's shoulder.

Neal looked back at Belle, disbelief clear on his face. "He didn't…? You two are perfect for each other," he said in disgust.

"Bae," Mr Gold greeted his son with a nod, his enthusiasm sapped by a long day of calculations and possibilities, "lovely to see you. I take it you're in Storybrooke to meet your son?"

"Yeah." Neal looked him up and down, taking note of the tiredness that made his shoulders slump and the stiffness with which he moved. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, nothing." Mr Gold cracked a wry smile, moving past his son to drop his keys into their rightful place in the bowl. He paused beside Belle to greet her with a kiss on the cheek, then looked back at Neal. "Just the, uh, hazards of sitting behind a desk all day."

"And you used to say writer's cramp wasn't a thing," Belle teased.

"I have been proven wrong," Mr Gold replied dryly, "clearly I miscalculated a wee bit as to how much it affected you."

Neal blinked, shaking his head. "A desk?" he asked, then held up his hands. "No. No, you're not drawing me in like this. I just came to talk about –"

"Emma?" Mr Gold asked lightly. "Why don't you stay for dinner and we can have a chat?"

"I just want to know what the situation is," Neal protested firmly, "with her and Henry and his adoptive mom."

"And you came here?"

"You always know everything about everyone, ok? It's creepy, but I figured you'd be the one to ask."

Belle smiled at them both. "I ordered Italian," she told them, and walked off towards the kitchen.

Mr Gold watched his son's face as he cycled through dismay, denial, and finally acceptance. Neal sighed, not looking particularly happy about this turn of events. "I guess I'm staying for dinner then," he said flatly.

Mr Gold chuckled. "Nothing sinister," he promised, "just dinner. How else would I ever get to see you? I know you didn't come here for me."

"You're right. I didn't," Neal agreed, following his father down the hallway to the dining room.

It was a room they rarely used. In fact, Mr Gold couldn't actually remember ever using it at all. Before the curse broke they had never hosted parties (as far as he could recall) or had formal dinners, and afterwards they had always eaten at the kitchen table where it was more homey. The dining room was more like the great hall back in the Dark Castle, dominated by a large dark wood table with matching chairs. A modern light chandelier hung from the ceiling. Vases on pedestals sat in the corners. There was an upright piano that was never used, and was probably in desperate need of tuning.

Belle had already set the table for three, either confident that Neal would come or (more likely, Mr Gold thought) just hoping that he would.

He sat at the head of the table, mainly because it was the closest seat and he wanted to get off his feet, and hooked his cane on the back of his chair. Reluctantly, as if afraid that the chair would bite him, Neal sat down at the place on his left. "So then," Mr Gold said, folding his hands on the table in front of him, "what is it you wanted to know?"

"Emma," Neal began, pausing when Belle came out of the kitchen balancing three plates of food. He waited until the food was served and Belle was sitting down before he continued; "What's going on with her and Henry's adoptive mom?"

"Regina," Mr Gold supplied. "Regina is currently in disgrace, and hiding from most of the town. We've heard rumours that she's currently in therapy, but I haven't had the chance to confirm the exact nature of this therapy. She and Miss Swan have been butting heads since Emma first came town. I believe she's terrified that Emma will take Henry from her… which she appears to have done, so you could say her fears were not unfounded."

"So who was she?" Neal asked. "I mean, pre-curse. Everyone here is from the Enchanted Forest, right? So who was Regina?"

"The Evil Queen," Belle supplied the answer simply and matter-of-factly.

"She cast the curse," Mr Gold added, unable to keep a small, sarcastic smile from his lips, "so you could say she's a wee bit high strung."

"Is she dangerous?"

Belle glanced at her husband, eyebrows raised. Mr Gold calmly speared a piece of penne pasta with his fork. "You could say that," he admitted.

Neal slumped against the hard back of his chair. "Great. So it's probably a bad thing Henry's run away back to her house?"

That was news to him. And from the look on Belle's face it was news to her too. "Oh no," Mr Gold assured his son, keeping his tone light, "Regina would never harm her son. It's just those who get between her and her son you have to be worried about."

"Sounds familiar," Neal muttered.

"I can apologise for the past," Mr Gold said mildly, determined not to get into an argument and chase his son away, "but I can't change it."

"I wouldn't ask you to," Neal shoots back, too quickly, as if he actually expected the suggestion that they _could_ change the past.

In truth magic wasn't that easy. Its solutions always came with a price, and the price for changing the past was one Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't dare to chance. It might be as simple as an early death and a life of poverty for his son. Or it might have more far-reaching consequences. There were plenty of things more painful than death, plenty of things that could be changed to their worst possible outcome if he dared to meddle with the past. The past, much like the future, was often best left alone. Destiny might have tarred them all with her brush, but the present at least had the illusion of free will.

"You know," Mr Gold began mildly, "it strikes me that you seem to believe me the same man as when you were a child. The same impatient, impulsive man who was unable to keep from letting his power go to his head. You don't think a couple of centuries could change a man, Bae?"

Neal didn't seem to have an answer for that, instead regarding his father with one of the best poker-faces Mr Gold had ever seen. It gave nothing away, which he supposed gave everything away. Neal didn't know what to think, or what to say, so he felt it best not to give anything away.

"Neal," Belle started, carefully pouring a few drops of green liquid into her glass of water (it showed how uncomfortable she was, how nervous, that she'd need the potion now. Though Rumpelstiltskin had to give her credit, outwardly it didn't show at all), "how long are you planning on staying in Storybrooke?"

Seizing the chance for a change of topic, Neal cleared his throat. "A couple of weeks. I took some time off work, figured I'd take the chance to get to know Henry."

"Are you staying at Granny's?"

"Where else is there to stay in this town?" Neal's smile was dry. "And that's not your cue to invite me to stay here."

"Would I be so transparent?" Belle asked, in a tone that Mr Gold recognised as teasing.

He had to smile at that. "You are very good at subtlety," he commented. "Always the perfect foil, really."

She smiled at him, pleased by the compliment. "I think that's the first time you've admitted that."

Neal shook his head, looking a little baffled by the whole exchange. In fact, if his next question was any indication he also seemed baffled by their whole relationship. "So how did you two meet anyway?"

Mr Gold smirked, shades of Rumpelstiltskin showing clearly in his face and tone. "Oh, you know. Her father's lands were in peril, I was a convenient last resort, she happened to be the most precious thing he had to give… You might say it was an arranged marriage."

"He's joking," Belle explained at Neal's disturbed look. "Mostly. I bargained to be the caretaker of his estate. The rest just sort of happened over time."

"Very romantic," Mr Gold elaborated, amused to realise that this was the first time they'd actually ever spoken about their courtship. Even more amused to note that Neal didn't seem to know how to react to the information. "I believe it involved lots of tea."

"You know the whole town is afraid of you?" Neal asked, staring at them both.

"So they should be," Mr Gold replied, unphased. He wasn't about to pretend to be something he wasn't. That was a good way to leave people disappointed and angry when they discovered the truth. "I'm a dangerous man to cross. But as long as they don't do that I don't see why we can't all get along." After a fashion, at least.

"… You have changed." Neal poked at his food, probably more to have something to do, or an excuse to look away, than anything else.

Overall the dinner went better than expected, though Neal didn't linger afterwards. It was enough that he'd begun to open up to the possibility of at least a civil relationship with his father. Fondness could come later, after Bae had learned to trust him again.

Mr Gold retired to bed early, stretching out tired muscles and sinking into the soft mattress. Tomorrow would be another long day.

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* * *

.

In the middle of the night he was rudely awoken not by the frantic pounding on the front door, but by the much closer thump of his wife falling out of bed. Groaning, she staggered to her feet and stumbled out of the room, leaving Rumpelstiltskin alone to slowly blink awake and wonder who the hell would be knocking on the door at this hour. He sat up in bed, listening as Belle stumbled through the house in the dark and finally made it to the front door. The knocking stopped, only to be replaced by muffled voices. He caught his name somewhere in the mix and sighed, reaching for his cane. He was already half way down the stairs when Belle called;

"Rumpel, you'd better come down here!"

"Way ahead of you, dearie." Mr Gold said, coming down the stairs. "Now, what's the problem?"

Emma stood in the doorway looking wild, hair in disarray, clothes wrinkled. With her were her parents, coats and shoes pulled on over their nightclothes, and Neal, who looked as if he'd never even slept. Emma opened her mouth to speak, then blinked. It took her a moment to get over the sight of Mr Gold barefoot and in maroon silk pyjamas. (Belle, who was wearing a nightgown that covered more than some of Lacey's dresses, apparently didn't warrant such surprise.)

"She took him," Emma said, once she'd recovered from her surprise. "She took Henry. They're gone."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific than that," Mr Gold informed her, not in the mood for this right now.

"Henry called me on the walkie," Emma explained, "he said Regina was talking about going back to the Enchanted Forest, just the two of them, and that she had some way to get there. He sounded really worried, so I went over to check on him and… She just… took him. They're gone."

"To the Enchanted Forest?" Mr Gold asked sharply, suddenly wide awake.

"We don't know," Mary-Margaret piped up. "When we got there she was already gone. Emma said there was a portal though and there was this."

She held out something round and flat and black. Mr Gold stepped forward to take it, feeling an ice cold rage wash over him at the sight of it. A hat. A very specific, very familiar hat. It had been squashed somehow, and was a little scorched, but he'd recognise that hat anywhere. "She had _this_," he hissed. "She had this and nobody knew!? How long did she have it?" He demanded. "Where did she get it from?"

"There was a body," Emma said. "In the Mayor's house. A man, I thought I recognised him from Henry's book…"

"Hatter," Rumpelstiltskin growled in disgust, gripping the wretched hat tight. He turned on his heel and started back up the stairs. No point in doing anything in just his pyjamas, knowing this lot they'd want to go haring off the second he revealed he could use the remnants of the hat as a portal anchor and open a door between the world. "Go to the shop," he told them over his shoulder. "Get dressed, take your weapons. This is a one way trip, so be prepared."

"One way…?" Emma said.

"It took a curse to get us here," Belle told her with a yawn, still not quite awake, "any trip between the worlds has to be assumed to be one way… I'm going to get dressed. Go to the shop," she repeated Rumpelstiltskin's instruction, "we'll meet you there."

.

* * *

.

By the time Belle had gotten dressed in her most practical outfit and hunted down her 'practical' kitten heel shoes she was beginning to feel wide awake. The reality of the situation slowly began to dawn, and she wisely tucked the last of the green potion into her bra for safekeeping before putting on her choker. She'd likely need it where they were going. Once that was done she pulled one of the suitcases from under the bed and stuffed a few necessary items inside, making sure to leave room for things from the shop. If this truly was a one way trip, then this was their only opportunity to take things with them. She doubted they would be able to leave a list of things to be forwarded on to their new location.

Rumpelstiltskin had dressed in one of his more formidable suits, accompanied by sturdy business shoes and a smart wool overcoat. He kept the squashed hat tucked under one arm, doing a final sweep of the house to make sure nothing important would be left behind. Apparently the only thing he found important enough to take from the house was a box of tea. "They don't have this one back home," he explained flippantly, stuffing it into a pocket.

The ride to the shop was tense and quiet. When they arrived the door was still locked, the lights still out and the Charmings yet to arrive. It gave them time to do a quick onceover of the shop, picking a few items to stuff into Belle's suitcase. The stolen fairy wands went in, as did a few ancient gold coins and a set of riding gloves from one of the drawers out the back. A book, Rumpelstiltskin's notebook and pen, a few tiny potion vials from the back room that included both liquid curses and cures. And finally, a dagger that Rumpelstiltskin summoned in a puff of purple smoke and wrapped in cloth before tucking it into the very bottom of the case.

The doorbell jangled just as Belle was retrieving a cloak from the wardrobe full of 'antique' clothing in the shop. She turned to face the Charmings, all of them dressed practically and outfitted with their individual weapons. Mary-Margaret was dressed in jeans, boots, cardigan and jacket, a bow and quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder. David was in his work outfit, leather jacket over flannel and a white t-shirt, the sword belted around his waist a strange contrast. Emma was in her usual outfit, jeans and red jacket, her gun on her belt, a sword hanging beside it. None of them carried any luggage, all of them clearly prepared to travel light.

"We're ready," Mary-Margaret said firmly.

Belle believed her. "If you want to take anything from the shop," she told them, fastening the cloak around her neck over her choker, "now's the time. We might not be coming back."

"We're good," David replied, hand on the hilt of his sword as if to reassure himself it was still there.

"Come through then."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer**: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

**Notes**: Good grief, we're getting close to the end. I've been working on a new story to start posting after this one (different universe), but it's not cooperating nearly as much as this one did. As always, hope you guys enjoy this.

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* * *

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Belle led them to the back room, where Rumpelstiltskin stood at his desk, the squashed hat on the surface in front of him. He was scrawling writing onto a piece of paper torn from the ledger that normally sat on the shop counter. Belle peeked over his shoulder, only a little surprised when she saw it was instructions as to how the fairies might use the hat to open another portal once they were gone.

"Pesky wee things would never figure it out on their own," he told her, signing the paper with a flourish. He looked up, noting their company. "Where's Bae?"

The small family hesitated, Mary-Margaret and David exchanging looks. Emma was the one who answered. "He… He went back to Granny's. I don't think he's coming."

Belle saw her husband's jaw tighten for a moment. He glanced down at the page full of instructions, she was sure her friends missed the barely-there sigh before he perked up suddenly. "Well," Rumpelstiltskin said, plucking a potion vial from the desk, "no time like the present."

With a dramatic gesture he poured the potion onto the hat. The liquid glowed brightly, soaking into the fabric and illuminating it from the inside. The hat began to quiver, a point of light forming in the centre that slowly began to expand into a portal. Wind picked up from nowhere, ruffling papers and blowing Belle's hair into her face. She took Rumpelstiltskin's hand without either of them needing to say a word, and then they were moving forwards, being pulled into the light.

The wind blew all sounds away from her, but as they fell into the portal Belle could swear she heard the distant jingle of the shop door, and a voice calling out for them to wait.

Next thing she knew she was landing on a bed of soft loam. Instinctively letting go of Rumpelstiltskin's hand she rolled to a stop face down in a pile of leaves. Blowing them from her face she fought her tangled cloak and stood up in time to see Emma and her parents tumble from the portal, landing just as gracelessly as she had. And then, a second later, a surprise bowled through after them, landing in a puff of dried leaves with a muffled curse.

The portal disappeared, leaving Belle night-blind until her vision adjusted to the pale light from the moon and stars. She looked around, seeing that Rumpelstiltskin was already on his feet, retrieving their suitcase from where it had fallen. He looked strange in this setting, surrounded by moonlit trees in a wild, unkempt forest. Somehow she'd been imagining that he would change again, back to the form she remembered, but as far as she could tell he still looked the same as he had in Storybrooke. As quickly as that thought registered she dismissed it, deciding it wasn't important how he looked.

Belle turned instead to look at the others, watching them get to their feet and brush leaves and dirt from themselves. She saw their surprise addition just as Rumpelstiltskin said his name.

"Bae."

Emma whirled around, surprised, leaves still in her hair, to look at Neal. "I thought you weren't coming," she said, half accusatory, half relieved. "What about your job? Your fiancé?"

Neal shrugged. It was hard to read his face in the scant light, but Belle thought he looked determined. He'd made a decision and he would stick with it. "This… This is more important." He cleared his throat awkwardly, brushed leaves from his jacket, and asked; "Where are we?"

Mary-Margaret looked around. "Starrow," she said decisively.

"Are you sure?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, one eyebrow arched. "The portal didn't have a specific landing place. How can you be certain?"

"We're in Starrow, I'm sure of it. I know these woods," Mary-Margaret insisted, "they might have changed a bit in twenty-eight years, but I still know them."

"We should find some high ground," David suggested, "see where we are, if we can find any landmarks."

"It's the middle of the night," Rumpelstiltskin pointed out dryly, "you won't see much."

"Then what do you suggest?" Emma asked, sarcasm in every line of her body. "We came here to get Henry, not to waste time bickering."

"Me? Why, I suggest we rest, dearie." Rumpelstiltskin moved, navigating the clearing carefully until he stood next to Belle. "Find a safe place where we can get the lay of the land, observe Regina from afar to decide the best course of action. And luckily for you, we just so happen to have landed close by a very safe place indeed."

"You know where we are?" David sounded sceptical. Belle couldn't blame him. She didn't recognise a thing in this overgrown forest. Still, she had a feeling she knew what her husband would suggest.

"The Dark Castle?" she suggested, looking at him.

"What?" Emma stared at them.

"The Dark Castle is safe, fortified, and contains all the equipment we might need to find Regina and your boy." Rumpelstiltskin explained with mocking patience. "It also has the benefit of being a place she would never expect you to go."

Mary-Margaret looked hesitant, but spoke up just the same; "Maybe we should go there. It can't hurt to have a secure base, and if Regina was looking for us one of the first places she'd expect us to go would be our castle. She wouldn't be looking for us at Rumpelstiltskin's place, she probably wouldn't even think he'd be working with us at all."

"We should go," Neal agreed. "I'll say this for my father, he knows how to protect his interests. And I'm guessing that would include the castle."

David shook his head. "I don't know. It doesn't feel right to me."

Mary-Margaret looked at her daughter. "That's two for and one against. Emma?"

"I don't know if we should be veering off track. You said Regina built herself a castle of her own somewhere, right? We should be heading there."

"Two for, two against," Mary-Margaret gave the count.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled, he glanced at Belle and she nodded. "Well then," he said pleasantly, "our votes make a majority. To the Dark Castle it is."

.

* * *

.

It was easier to wave a hand and transport them all to the castle gate then it would have been to walk through the forest in the dark across the border to no-man's-land. He could even feel his magic was stronger here, more like it had been before. The purple smoke dissipated just as quickly as it had come, leaving their little group standing in front of the Dark Castle's iron gates. The gardens inside were even more overgrown than ever, with tangles of creepers and weeds that were making a clear attempt to take over the path to the castle door. The castle itself loomed ominous and dark against the night sky, a black shape with towers stretching like fingers towards the stars – the tallest to the north.

"Gold!" Emma snapped, evidently not having enjoyed their method of travel, "you could have warned us!"

"Ugh," Neal groaned, a hand on his stomach, "I forgot how bad it was."

"You do get used to it," Belle assured their companions soothingly, apparently unbothered by magical transportation even after twenty-eight years under the curse, "and it is the quickest way to travel."

Rumpelstiltskin moved forward to touch the gate. One light brush of his fingertips and the gate swung open, creaking on rusted hinges. If anyone else had tried to open the gates they would not have moved so easily, and he was glad to see that the castle still recognised him.

The path to the castle door was overgrown at the edges, a few valiant weeds sprouting up in the cracks between the stones, but by and large it hadn't changed that much. It was still smooth enough to walk without any trouble, even with his cane. The main door, the one that led to the great hall, was chained and padlocked shut. If they had gone to any of the other entrances it would have been the same. Rumpelstiltskin touched the padlock with a finger and the lock sprang obediently open, chain slithering from the door handles to puddle on the ground. The doors opened on a black cavernous room, the light from the moon not even daring to illuminate the interior past the front step.

A gesture with his hand and candles sparked to life around the great hall, the flickering, warm glow somehow making the place look even more ominous than before.

"Home sweet home," Rumpelstiltskin muttered, and stepped inside.

Abandoned during the years of the curse, the great hall looked ancient and sad. Dry, brittle husks of flowers in dusty vases seemed to dance in the candle-light. The cabinets that had previously contained curios and trophies looked sad and empty, only a few bits and pieces remaining. The long table and chairs were dull and unpolished, but otherwise looked just the same as the last time he'd seen them.

"Well," Emma commented once they were all inside, "I can see why they call it the Dark Castle."

Belle took one of the candles from its stand. "I'll take you upstairs," she told their guests, "the rooms might be dusty, but they should still be serviceable. We can regroup in the morning. Rumpel?"

Rumpelstiltskin waved a hand dismissively, "you'll know where to put them, I'm sure."

Probably on the third floor, where the old guest rooms for visiting nobles were. Not that they had ever really been used when he lived in the castle, with the exception of the few months Belle had spent in one of the suites. They, like much of the castle, were simply a remnant of the previous owners. One he had never bothered to get rid of, kept in good repair by the magic that he'd sunk into the castle's very stones – the same magic that kept the candles fresh, the firewood stocked, and the pantry full. Though after so long without anyone living inside these walls it might take some time for the spells to wake up properly.

"You'll be in the tower?" Belle asked him, though she didn't really need confirmation. They both knew full well that of course that was where he'd be. She nodded without waiting for his answer, and motioned for the rest of the group to follow her.

Neal lingered behind. "What's in the tower?"

"My workroom," Rumpelstiltskin replied simply. "If everyone is going to be hanging over my shoulder tomorrow – and I suspect they will, don't you? – then it's going to need a little renovation. Removal of a few, ah, unsavoury items, for example."

"Ah." Neal did not look impressed by that explanation. He stood there, awkward, and rubbed the back of his neck. "So why are you helping? What's in all of this for you? I don't believe you'd just uproot your whole life to help someone else get their kid back."

"Why did you come?" Rumpelstiltskin replied, raising an eyebrow at his son. He leaned heavily on his cane, moving the suitcase he'd brought from the floor to the table. "This could prove to be a one way trip, Bae. You knew full well you might never go home and yet you came along anyway. I believe I heard mention of a fiancé, and a job. What would make you give all that up to come back to a place you swore never to return to?"

"Henry's my son."

"You barely know him." Two flicks unlocked the suitcase. The rolled up piece of paper was buried under Belle's nightgown, but easy enough to find. Rumpelstiltskin pulled it out, then turned and handed it to his son. "I would have come back here anyway," he explained, "I was already working on a way to return here to the Enchanted Forest. Belle and I would have left Storybrooke, we might have been more prepared than this, but it was in the cards for us long before you came knocking on our door again."

"What's this?" Neal asked, unrolling the sheet of paper. He moved closer to one of the candelabras along the wall, leaning in to the light to read the paper. "The ruling house of Starrow?"

"That is why I'll be helping."

Rumpelstiltskin watched his son trace the lines of the tree with a finger, moving down from the top and stopping at the bottom where Henry's name was inscribed in Belle's flowing hand. "Because he's family," Neal supplied in understanding.

It was a highly simplified version of the truth, but he'd hit the nail on the head. Henry was family, but he was also the youngest heir to the throne of Starrow. Rumpelstiltskin had no doubt that sooner or later someone would find the hat and the instructions he'd left and take them to the fairies. Then it would only be a matter of time until the citizens of Storybrooke returned to their rightful homes in the Enchanted Forest. Kingdoms would be rebuilt and, inevitably, the question of what to do about the Dark One would be raised again. He had no doubts that the prospect of imprisonment would soon be on the table again, though this time he had no intentions of going quietly. An alliance with the ruling house of Starrow could only work in his favour. On top of that, of course, was the fact that it might endear him to Baelfire…

"Third floor," Rumpelstiltskin told his son, "east wing. That's where the guest rooms are."

Neal hesitated, then took one of the candles and left, the paper with the family tree still held in his other hand.

.

* * *

.

A fair few things had not made the trip between worlds, and for that he was glad. The cabinet with all of his old potions still stood exactly where it had been in the workroom, the shelves still full of bottles and jars full of liquid, each one neatly labelled. A handful of jars and boxes were still scattered across the benches, all of the things too unusual to pass for plain old antiques or curiosities that Mr Gold might have come across in his business trades. The glass jar with the preserved foetus was still on the table, still giving off a faint green glow in the dark. That was the first thing to go. With a wave of his hand Rumpelstiltskin sent it to one of the more obscure store rooms in the castle. No doubt Belle would stumble across it sooner or later, but she'd never been one to squeak about oddities even when she'd first arrived in this castle. The next thing to go was the small pile of human skulls in the corner that had been acquired long ago in a forgotten trade. An ancient chimaera corpse, a set of brutal looking knives that were in fact only ever used for chopping up ingredients for potions, gone in the wave of a hand. The stained top of the table was covered with a conveniently placed cauldron.

With those small changes the North Tower looked a little less like the terrifying den of a monster and more like the workroom of a morally ambiguous sorcerer. No-one need know otherwise.

.

* * *

.

It was dark in the master suite of the castle, the door that connected his rooms with Belle's shut and bolted. There was a lump in the bed that suggested she had decided that the old-fashioned sleeping arrangement of separate rooms was no longer in the cards. He might not remember all twenty-eight years of their life in Storybrooke, but he remembered enough to agree that sleeping in separate beds now would just be ridiculous.

She didn't stir as he slipped into the bed. She was wearing a chemise, he noticed, probably left behind in the wardrobe from her room. Her choker was sitting on the bedside table, the stone defaulted back to a warm amber colour that matched the gold of its setting.

His dagger was safe, stowed in a part of the castle that could only be accessed by magical means. The suitcase was unpacked, everything in its proper place.

.

* * *

.

Belle woke in the morning not because of an alarm, or an intrusive sunbeam, or her husband prodding her awake. For a moment she was confused about where she was before she remembered the events of last night. She sat up, the other side of the bed rumpled and empty, and into the breeze that had woken her. She had forgotten how drafty it could be this high up in the castle, especially if one forgot to close the windows properly.

The flagstone floor was cold against her bare feet, but not unpleasantly so. She stood, looking for signs of where Rumpelstiltskin might have gone.

She found him in the study that joined their rooms, and for a moment her heart jumped in her chest at the sight of him. He was dressed in tall boots, loose pants, and a leather vest over a flowing dark gold shirt. With his back turned and his hair ruffled from sleep he looked almost exactly as she remembered him. The only thing to mar the illusion was the cane leaning against the desk beside him.

He turned then, sensing her presence, and she gasped.

"Ah, yes," he said, looking down at his hands and the faint shine they had taken on in the light, "it appears magic is indeed very different than in Storybrooke. I'm changing back."

"That is _not_ a bad thing," Belle assured him, stepping forward to touch his skin and see the change close up. It was subtle, a barely-there difference in his skin tone, but it was enough that she had noticed it straight away. "As long as I can still kiss you."

"I have a theory about that," Rumpelstiltskin replied, brushing his fingers through the ends of her hair, "one that we will need to test."

"Should I kiss you now?" Belle offered, sorely tempted. "Just to see? It would be cruel to have to go back to the way we were."

He leaned in and she did the same. They both stopped at the last second, lips almost but not quite touching. Belle took the last step, pressing them together into a kiss, ready to leap back if there were any ill effects. After a moment she pulled away, looking to see if the shine had gone from his skin. Rumpelstiltskin waited a beat, head cocked slightly to the side. Then he grinned. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Belle confirmed, delighted by the prospect that they did not have to return to a life of chastity even if the physical aspect of his 'curse' was returning. (In truth she kind of liked the idea of his looking how he used to. _That_ was the man she'd fallen in love with, after all. Strange as it was, she had missed the look of him.)

"Nothing," Rumpelstiltskin nodded.

Belle laughed. She threw her arms around his neck in a quick, hard hug. If she wasn't aware of the fact that they had guests on the floor below who expected them to help find the princess' kidnapped son she would have lingered – she might even have tugged him back to the bed. As it was all she could do was kiss him on the cheek before pulling away. "I should get dressed…"

Her suite of rooms hadn't changed at all in the time they'd been gone. They were dustier, perhaps, in need of a good airing out, but the things – the furniture and nick-knacks – were all exactly the same as they had been. The wardrobe door creaked when she opened it, the hinges in need of oiling. The inside smelled musty, but her old dresses still hung there, seemingly untouched by the years.

Belle hesitated, then took out one of her old 'work' dresses. Those dresses were shorter and less grand than the others, designed for ease of movement. They were the ones she had worn while cleaning, or while out in the nearby market town. If they really were going to go head to head with Regina then doubtless she'd need to be wearing something practical. Stockings and practical slippers completed the outfit, and after brushing her hair out she felt more like herself than she had in a long, long time.

It felt strange to descend from the fourth floor and go immediately to the kitchens, but to her that seemed the most logical place to go. The white tea set was gone, still in their Storybrooke kitchen, but the green glazed set was still there. She took that down, found a tea tray, and set water to boil. The pantry was almost bare, only a few lonely items daring to make an appearance overnight. That anything at all had shown up was a good sign – the castle never made food, only stole it from places where it already existed, which meant there were still people somewhere in the Enchanted Forest.

She chose a loaf of bread, a jar of tea, and a pot of what looked like honey.

Tea tray ready, she carried the whole thing up to the third floor's east wing.

The Charmings were already up and about, congregated in the sitting room of David and Mary-Margaret's suite. They stopped talking when she entered, instead staring at her and the tray.

Belle set the tea tray on the small sitting room table, ignoring the looks. David and Mary-Margaret had never seen her in anything other than decadence, while Emma and had never seen her in anything other than Lacey's wardrobe. To suddenly show up in this practical blue dress must have been something of a shock, even if she was still wearing her gold lacework choker.

"Breakfast," Belle announced. "I'm afraid the pantry is a little bare just now, so we'll have to make do. Where's Neal?"

"He said he was going to look for a privy," Emma replied, wrinkling her nose. "We'll have to tell him he missed breakfast."

"I'm surprised you even have anything," Mary-Margaret commented, "I was expecting we'd have to go hunting later."

"Well I for one am glad," Emma said, reaching for the bread. "I've never had to hunt for my food before and I'm not keen on starting just yet."

"Where's Rumpelstiltskin?" David asked, inspecting the honey pot. He dipped fingertip in and tested it, licking the honey from his finger. He must have decided it was safe, since he then smeared some over a piece of bread and offered the jar to Mary-Margaret.

Belle sat down, pouring out cups of tea for everyone. "He'll be in the North tower already. We'll be going there after everyone's eaten." She paused a moment, wondering if she should warn them about his appearance. "It's a long way up," she said finally, deciding that they'd find out on their own soon enough, "so I hope everyone is in comfortable shoes."

.

* * *

.

Rumpelstiltskin was setting up a slightly-more-than-basic locator spell when footsteps on the stairs alerted him to company. Just one set, heavy, with a slight squeak that he associated with sneakers. He stopped what he was doing, turning away from the maps pilfered from the library and faced the door, waiting for the inevitable interruption.

He couldn't muster up a proper amount of surprise when Neal walked in, a little out of breath in the same way most people were when they weren't used to so many stairs. He stopped short when he saw Rumpelstiltskin, slowly taking in everything from the boots to the vest to the way his skin had acquired an odd sheen in the light.

"You're changing again," he said, his poker-face not quite hiding the disappointment in his tone.

Rumpelstiltskin looked down at his hands again. The colour hadn't changed any from when it had first appeared, his nails still pinkish and neatly trimmed, skin still smooth and lightly tanned. That would change in time. Slower than the first time, he suspected, but it would still change. "That's the nature of curses," he remarked lightly, "they can't be circumvented, only changed or destroyed."

"So you're going back to this again?" Neal asked, imitating the old theatrical gestures he'd once used. Badly.

"Not fully, I suspect. My time as Mr Gold has left a, uh, lasting impression you might say." He was still and always would be both of them, though perhaps not a seamless blend.

Neal looked away. He wandered over to the tower window, peering out through the glass panes to the wild garden below. "So… tower, huh? Did you have to pick the highest one? I mean, I figured that would be it, it always is, but did it have to be the highest tower?"

"The tallest tower has the best view, always best for certain spells."

"Of course." Neal wandered away from the window and over to the maps Rumpelstiltskin had spread out over the table. The entire continent was there, drawn on vellum in inks that had begun to fade just enough to dull the greens and blues into something almost pastel, detailed maps of each kingdom laid out with the corners overlapping.

Frankly Rumpelstiltskin doubted that Regina and Henry were anywhere other than her old castle, but it was better to be sure. For all he knew she was aware that they'd come after her and had decided to take the boy to Agrabah across the seas, somewhere they wouldn't think to look for her.

"The best I could find, under the circumstances," Rumpelstiltskin noted of the maps. There were probably better maps in existence somewhere, but these were the best in his library so they would have to do.

"I'd forgotten what this place was like," Neal said, looking down at the maps. He traced the southern edge of the continent with a fingertip, frowning. "Quiet, you know? Without the cars and the night life."

"Regretting your choice already?" The question was asked lightly, but it was loaded with meaning.

"No." Neal looked up. "Just wondering how I'm ever gonna sleep without the traffic noise outside."

He would take that as progress. This was conversation number two that his son had initiated of his own accord, after abandoning his world without magic for the sake of family he had just barely met. Rumpelstiltskin was about to reply when noise on the stairs alerted him to the rest of their happy little gang's imminent arrival in his workroom. Instead he stepped back behind the table, making room for the inevitable congregation around the maps.

Belle entered first, looking very much like her old self. She was followed immediately by Emma, then David and Mary-Margaret.

"There you are," Emma said, catching sight of Neal, "we thought you got lost."

"Nah, the most important rooms are always in the tallest tower, right?"

Mary-Margaret looked around, shrewd eyes falling on the empty peg on the wall, and the spaces between the jars and bottles on the benches. David looked uncomfortable, a natural and sensible distrust of magical lairs making him seem tense. When he saw Rumpelstiltskin – the cast of his skin in the light, and the distinctly Dark-Oneish clothes – his jaw tightened.

"Rumpelstiltskin," he said, almost an accusation rather than an acknowledgement or greeting.

"Prince James," Rumpelstiltskin replied, a hint of mocking hiding somewhere about his mouth.

Emma, clearly about to ask what the tone was about, caught sight of Rumpelstiltskin properly and gaped. "Whoa. What's with the outfit, Gold?"

The sorcerer looked down at himself, then said mildly; "A little better than a suit for haring about the Enchanted Forest. Wouldn't you say so, dearie?"

Emma raised her eyebrows. "Whatever you say, Gold. So," she continued, walking up to the maps spread out on the table. "What's the plan? How are these going to help us find Henry?"

"A locator spell," Belle supplied, moving to the other side of the table so Mary-Margaret and David could gather around.

"Exactly," Rumpelstiltskin agreed, retrieving a small potion vial from the supplies they had brought with them in the suitcase. "All we need for this to work is something of Regina's… fortunately, I've had something set aside just in case."

"Gloves?" Emma asked sceptically.

"I know those," Mary-Margaret said, looking at the riding gloves Rumpelstiltskin had just set down on the table by the maps. "Those were Regina's. She used to wear them when we went riding with father."

"How did _you_ get them?" David asked, as sceptical as his daughter.

"Ah-ah, secrets of the trade. Just trust me. Have I steered you wrong yet?" Rumpelstiltskin smirked. The honest truth was that, though they were right not to trust him, he had never sent any of this little family in the wrong direction before. True, it was always because he needed certain things to happen or to not happen, but they didn't know that.

None of them had a response, of course.

"Stand back then," he told them all, unstoppering the potion vial, "and watch very closely. These maps will tell us where she is, and where we can find your boy."

Rumpelstiltskin poured a few careful drops of potion onto the gloves, then added a drop for each individual map on the table. Once he was done the whole thing glowed for a moment, then went dark. The parchment rippled slightly as if in a breeze, then a black dot, like a drop of ink had been spilled onto the paper, appeared on one of the maps. It blotted out part of the letters labelling that portion of the map, but he didn't need to read it to know where that was.

"The castle," Belle said, looking at the dot. She looked up at the Charmings. "Your castle."

"Our castle?" David repeated, startled.

"Why would she be in our castle?" Mary-Margaret asked, looking concerned. "Why not hers?"

"That's not the question you should be asking," Rumpelstiltskin reminded them. "The question you should be asking is 'how do we get in without being seen'? She may not be expecting company, but she will be able to detect any magic performed in or around the castle. That is, if she's paying attention."

"She just kidnapped Henry and fled to another dimension," Emma pointed out, "I'm going to bet she'll be paying attention. She killed to get him here, she's not going to let him go that easy."

"There's a passage," Mary-Margaret told them, "through the dungeons and out the main courtyard, and there's a drainage grate in the south wall we could probably get through without a lot of trouble. We were going to have it fixed but we never got around to it. I don't see how she could know about it, she was never interested in that sort of detail."

"If we get in through the dungeons," David added, "then as long as we make it up to the kitchen on the next floor it's a straight shot up to the royal wing through the servants' stair."

"Right," Emma nodded, "so it sounds like we have a plan to get in. But how do we tackle Regina herself?"

Rumpelstiltskin glanced at Belle from the corner of his eye. She saw him looking and immediately reached up to touch her choker. "Me," she said in understanding.

"You?" The chorus of voices was almost insulting. Even Neal, who didn't properly know Belle, sounded like he didn't believe she could do it.

"But," Mary-Margaret said, "I thought you didn't have any magic."

"I don't," Belle confirmed with a nod. "But I have this," she touched her choker again, "as long as I'm wearing it she can't hurt me with her magic."

"And some magics, like potions –" like curses in potion form, but he wouldn't say that "–don't require a person of magical learning to use them."

"But what about that protection spell?" Mary-Margaret asked pointedly. "The one you cast so she couldn't hurt us in this land. Wouldn't that still work?"

Rumpelstiltskin and Belle shared a look. "We have reason to believe," he informed them, "that the effect of Regina's curse was far greater than we could have imagined. It's quite possible that the melding of your two selves – Snow White and Mary-Margaret Blanchard – cancelled out any protection spell done when you were just the one self."

"It's better not to risk it," Belle added. "The choker is an object, not a person. It was never affected by the curse the same way we all were. Snow, I would hate for her to hurt you or kill you and then know I could have prevented it."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Alright," Neal piped up, pointing at Belle and his father, "so let's say you two deal with Regina, since you're the ones who won't die if she hits you with anything nasty. And while you're doing that we can rescue the kid."

"So…" Emma summarised; "Belle and Gold deal with Regina, while we find Henry and get him out of there. Then we regroup and figure out where to go from there."

"Five minutes," Rumpelstiltskin announced. "I can get us as close as the Royal Forest without risking detection."

"I need my bow," Mary-Margaret said, rosy-cheeked face grim. "Five minutes," she agreed. "We'll get our weapons, then we'll go."


End file.
